


Dick + Darl

by xoPeapup



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Bears, Crappy Food, M/M, Negan has a Potty Mouth, Vacation, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-07-19 19:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 43,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19979521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoPeapup/pseuds/xoPeapup
Summary: When Papa Dixon was off on a bender with some waitress and Merle did another stint in juvie, 7-year-old Daryl got lost in the woods. He ate berries for days, wiped his butt with poison oak... and he never found his way back home.AU in which Daryl never reunited with his family but survived for 27 years all by himself in the wilderness. Set in Alaska, not Georgia.





	1. Sep 30th

**Author's Note:**

> A little thing I wrote just for fun

250 miles away from civilization, the Bush Luxury Wilderness Retreat Lodge promised in its 8-pages-colored-high gloss-brochure a fun off-grid Alaska Adventuring time combined with all amenities the overworked metropolitan could ask for. A comfy bed, wifi, a full bath, and wood stove sauna, as well as a kitchen filled with all the necessities for a nice home-cooked meal. 

Theoretically. 

Because Mister Tucker, the proud owner, lately had a hard time to keep up with the maintenance of his little rustic vacation cabin. First his 21-year-old pet bunny passed away, then his favorite TV show got canceled, then his wife asked for a divorce after meeting a rich motel-co-owner from Juneau, and as if that wouldn't have been enough, he was told a week ago that the meaningful Japanese upper arm tattoo he had gotten last year at a street fair in Anchorage actually meant 'toad' and not 'warrior' as he had thought. To put it in a sad little nutshell: J. Alfred Tucker was going through a very tough period of his life right now and therefore maybe forgot occasionally that a new guest was arriving.

"Uhm..." He scratched the itchy spot behind his left ear while holding his 9-year-old Nokia flip phone to the right. "No water you say? I don't know, I mean ..."

"No fuckin' water, no electricity, and the god damn fuckin' fridge is as dark and fuckin' empty as the pruney vagina of a catholic missionary sister!" Negan flung the refrigerator door shut to give the man on the other end of the line his full attention. After a seven-hour flight from Atlanta to Anchorage, another 40-minutes plane ride with a very small, very questionable aircraft, going through a rugged mountain pass before landing ungently on a fucking dirt strip at Port Alsworth where he was asked to board a tiny boat for a 30-minute ride across Lake Clark only to be dumped off at the shores of Chulitna River and this rat hole of a cabin, he really wasn't in the best mood and would probably kill his employee Mister Grimes for suggesting a 'much needed 4 week time out in unspoiled, pristine nature', as soon as he got back to civilization. "When the fuck was the last fucking time you had guests over? It reeks like a pile of bat shit in the bathroom!" He pulled the chain dangling over the dirty lavatory, producing a sad gurgling sound but not a drop of water.

"Uhm... April I guess?" Mister Tucker shrugged and then remembered that it actually had been early February and it hadn't been exactly a guest, but himself when his wife was demanding a month of physical separation because apparently, she was unable to breathe or think with him in the same house. "Maybe the pipe's a bit cloggy. Could send some Drano or a plunger with the next boat."

"What do you fucking mean APRIL!" Negan wiped a bunch of empty beer cans off the counter and then flinched when a pretty big mouse ran towards the dirty sink to vanish in the drain. "It is almost October! You said you are fully booked!"

Jim-Alfred on the other end of the line shrugged again, rubbing the back of his slightly sweaty neck. "Somebody canceled last minute." He wasn't sure. He hadn't checked his e-mails in a while since his soon to be ex-wife's lawyer tried to use this way of communication to send some extraordinary high bills.

Negan's expression hardened severely, the promise of death glimmering in his eyes as his tone lowered into a dangerous timbre. "You will send a fucking boat right fucking now and it will take me to a very nice, very comfortable hotel that you will fully fucking pay for or I will burn this shit hole down and sue the holy crap outta you. Is that understood."

Jimmy grimaced, rubbing his neck again. "Ya see... Otis is the only one with a boat and he's only doing tours in good weather because his rheumatism acts up as soon as a drop of rain-" 

"YOU WILL SEND A FUCKIN' BOAT! NOW!" Negan ended the unpleasant call with a furious tap on the red button... and then had to take a deep breath and close his eyes for a moment when rumbling thunder resounded over the picturesque mountain vista right in front of his rental cabin, followed by heavy rainfall. He groaned, massaging the bridge of his nose. He would definitely kill Rick.

\---- 

After a sleepless night on a horribly uncomfortable, stained mattress, no shower in the morning, a no-coffee-no toast breakfast, and still no boat in sight, Negan decided around ten in the morning that he could just as well make the best out of the situation and go for a little hike as long as he was there. Because as filthy and unpleasant his accommodation was, the scenery in front of the door was simply breathtaking. Turquoise water framed by mighty mountains and rich forests. The fresh smell of pure nature and early fall scented the air and as he squinted across the gigantic lake on the lookout for Otis and his boat, he could see a bear on the north shore, peacefully roaming through some blueberry bushes. It wasn't too bad and he was actually a big fan of hiking. He had done it a lot, a few years back, before his company had doubled in size and importance on the worldwide leather market. 

The sun did a decent job for September the 30th, so he exchanged his old black biker jacket for a grey hoodie, left the jacket along with his luggage and a warning 'don't you dare to leave without me' note for Otis by the little wooden dock, grabbed a bottle of water and went westward to explore his surroundings.

\----

He arrived back at his rental log cabin in the early afternoon. Hoodie wrapped around the waist and his shirt as sweaty as his hair. He felt relaxed though. What a beautiful place this was. Beautiful but still fucking boat-less.

He muttered an incoherent death threat that included several people on his new list of mortal enemies and then, "What the-" saw that apparently somebody had rummaged through his luggage. His black Hugo Boss duffle bag was dusty and unzipped. One shirt hung out, another lay on the ground. His suitcase had fallen over, the note he had written for Otis swam in the water and his trademark, worn for almost two decades, beloved leather jacket was nowhere to be seen. He squinted, looked beneath the bag, inside, picked the suitcase up, held a shielding hand to his forehead as he checked in every direction and then, "MOTHERFUCKER!" kicked his innocent CK sleepwear to the soggy paper note into the turquoise H2O of Lake Clark. "GOD FUCKIN' DAMMIT!" A sweet pair of great crested grebes flew frantically up from the reeds, startled by the sudden loud voice echoing through the usually rather quiet mountain landscape.

Thirty seconds later, Jim Tucker somewhere in his little one-bedroom bachelor apartment suffered the same fate as he jerked awake from his alcohol-infused midday nap because his phone rang. Loud and persistently. "Yeah?" He wiped some slobber off his mouth and blinked his eyes, for a moment not sure where he was.

"YOUR FUCKIN' GUY OTIS NOT ONLY LEFT WITHOUT ME, HE ALSO STOLE MY GOD DAMN MOTHERFUCKING SHIT! YOU EITHER SEND HIM BACK ASAP WITH A BIG BOX OF CHOCOLATES AND A VERY HEARTFELT APOLOGY OR I WILL SEND THE FUCKIN' COPS AFTER BOTH OF YOU!"

"Enzo?" Tucker sat up, not sure why his bookmaker called him all of sudden.

Negan scrunched up his face, his jaw setting tightly. "Negan. Your lodge guest."

"Ah." Tucker rubbed his eye as the memory came back. "Could you unclog the pipe?"

"Could I unclog the pipe?" Negan arched his brows, almost surprised by the casual question. "Not yet. But I will rip that fuckin' pipe out and personally wrap it around your sorry throat the minute I get a hold of you!"

Jimmy scratched his head, sensing passive-aggressive vibes through the phone... and then flinched and almost dropped it when a furious voice yelled right into his ear.

"SEND THE FUCKIN' BOAT!"

The connection was cut off and he shook his head. Those city people really needed to relax a bit.

\----

"Fuckin' asshole." Negan stared for a moment at the spectacular lake, wondering whether he could manage to swim to Port Alsworth before he decided for the safer option and dialed a number in Atlanta. It beeped four times before a chipper voice answered.

"Negs, my friend! How's Alaska? Caught any wild salmon yet? Don't cook it! Just a little steam and a pinch of red pepper!" Simon made a smacking sound as he kissed the tips of his fingers, his mouth already watering as serious plans for his own dinner formed in his head. 

"No." Negan pinched the bridge of his nose. He was tired. "Listen. The address of my cabin is in the red binder on my desk. Find a pilot and a waterplane to pick me up as soon as possible."

"Mh." Simon pressed his lips together, nodding in sympathy. "Too many mosquitos, ey. Told you to bring an extra can of bug spray. You're not the wilderness kind of guy."

"Just fuckin' send somebody and-" Negan didn't get to finish his sentence. His phone beeped once, vibrated for half a second and then shut itself off. He squinted at the dark display, "Great." turned around to grab some of his luggage and stomped back to the cabin. "Just, fuckin' great."

\----

The good thing was, Otis hadn't taken the solar charger or the protein bars. The bad thing was: A thick blanket of dark clouds chose to cover the beautiful Alaskan sky for a little more rainy weather, and the protein bars tasted like stale horse shit. 

Negan's rumbling stomach demanded that he ate one anyway while he glowered out of the dirty window. God, how he hated this godforsaken place and all the circumstances that had brought him here. Who said that people needed a vacation? Vacation was an invention for lazy people who didn't understand the concept of hard work and commitment as the only way to success.

Like Rick, that little schmuck, who went every August for exactly three weeks to an all-inclusive summer vacation on the canary islands, each year at the same fucking hotel where he did nothing but basking his scrawny body in the sun and forking up heaps of paella, claiming to connect with the Spanish culture. 

Negan huffed a snidely laugh as he sipped his calcium-enriched french table water. Fuckin' Rick. And god damn fuckin' Paella. He grimaced when the irritatingly authentic flavor of saffron and seafood spread over his tongue, making his stomach rumble once more. And he didn't even like rice very much.

He put the cap back on the bottle, looked around for a while, undecided of what to do, before he went and flopped down on the probably bug-infested bed. He put his feet up, slid out of his boots to let them drop on the ground, let his socks follow ... and after listening to the lulling sound of rain drumming on the roof for 15 minutes, drifted off into a surprisingly deep sleep. 


	2. Oct 1st

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilderness 1 - Negan 0

Either the nights in Alaska were shorter, the time went by faster, or there must have been another logical explanation why Negan woke up at least 12 hours later in the early morning of October the 1st, very well rested, to bright sunshine, a distant smell of fir resin, the sound of chirping birds, and a light breeze rustling through the treetops. He blinked his eyes open and inhaled deeply as he stretched his long body on a bed that felt far too comfortable for not having a 2100,- dollar gel memory foam hybrid mattress. 

He allowed himself to relax for a little while longer, studied the wooden ceiling of his bedroom, picked one of his fingernails and felt surprisingly energized when he finally sat up and swung his legs out of bed. He checked his still dead phone as he went over to the window and briefly glanced outside before he opened the door, a bit taken aback by the smell of noticeably clean, very fresh air that had nothing in common with any scent the city had to offer. He positioned his phone with the solar charger on the wooden outside-table, found an empty bucket right next to the bench and carried it down to the lake. The grass and soil felt somewhat nice beneath his feet and the wooden boat bridge even better. Smooth and kinda damp. The image of his grandfather and a farm in Kentucky crossed his mind for a second as he squatted down to wash out the old metal bucket and then fill it to the brim. The water was fucking cold but also crystal clear. He wondered if it was drinkable.

Back at the cabin he ate a cashew-apple-protein bar for breakfast, brushed his teeth, took a piss before he remembered that the flush didn't work, washed over his make-shift bucket-sink and then dumped the used water into the toilet.

As he went through his luggage he couldn't detect anything missing other than his leather jacket, which was weird, considering that his laptop, expensive watch, a brand new Fitbit, and a wallet full of money were still there. Maybe good old Otis wasn't the brightest, or maybe he was just a sucker for a real good piece of leather.

Negan got a fresh shirt out and some underwear before he put everything else back since he didn't intend to stay. He also used the slightly tinged mirror in the bathroom to trim his stubble a bit and fix his hair, noting that the dark circles that he usually wore under his eyes had magically disappeared. It looked great and to celebrate his unexpected rejuvenating cure, he decided to use a dab of his favorite cologne.

By 10 o'clock a new sign was written... bigger, better and far more daunting than the first... and it sat with all the luggage by the wooden pier, waiting for the water taxi to arrive. 

By 1 PM there was still no boat in sight and Negan had tried to sooth his homicidal ideation and rumbling stomach with seven wild strawberries he had found behind the cabin and would probably give him the fox tapeworm. 

Until 2 PM he had cleaned the house to some extent, which was easier than he had thought and made him wonder what the hell his cleaning lady Olivia was always complaining about.

By 3 PM the only thing occupying the beautifully smooth surface of Lake Clark was a group of swans. No Otis, no boat, no seaplane. He cursed and tore the phone off its charger even though the battery wasn't completely full yet, and dialed Mister Tucker's number. Nothing happened. He squinted at the display, noticed that cell reception was literally not existent, and walked from left to right, holding his phone up in hopes to make a difference. In the end he went back inside and actually managed to get a call through, but got no answer other than a slight rustling that obviously aspired to be a beeping sound. He tried again and a third time with the same result, before he called Atlanta, only to realize that the line was dead again. "Motherfuckin' horseshit..." He threw the phone onto the bed, glowered for four minutes at a random spot on the wall, cursed again and then collected his useless piece of technology, grabbed his backpack and left for another hike. This time in the other direction, to walk off some steam and hopefully find more berries or anything else considered edible.

\----

It helped. The whole forest scenery with all its rich fragrances of leaves and loam, the cracking beneath his shoes whenever he stepped on a twig or pinecone, the wind and sun finding a way through the trees. It was pretty relaxing and he was honestly digging it, almost wishing that the filthy cabin he had rented would actually be habitable, so he could stay a while for the vacation he had initially booked. Maybe the idiots at home would manage to run the business without him for a couple of weeks. Or at least not burn the house down.

He stopped at a densely wooded scarp and looked down. There was a stream and in a bit of a distance a group of animals between the trees. Boars he guessed. It looked like it and he got his phone out, first to take a pic of the animals, then a selfie with sunglasses and raised middle finger that he intended to send home to Rick as soon as he would find a functioning wifi connection.

He saved it, switched through his picture folder, deleted a couple of blurry ones he had taken the day before and then completely lost his balance as he made half a step back. He stumbled, making a few smaller rocks tumble down the leafy scarp... along with a Samsung S10+ in aesthetically ceramic black before he was able to catch it or regain his footing. "FUCK!" He held on to a slender birch tree with one hand as he peered down the slope and almost killed the innocent tree when he gave it a hard kick in utter frustration. "GODDAMMIT!" 

With both hands on his hips and his head tipped back he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He really couldn't believe this shit and honestly, it started to get him slightly worried.

He flared his nostrils, trying to murder a beautiful brimstone butterfly with his best death stare... before he shook his head and made his way back to the cabin. Fuckin' Otis better was waiting with that boat or he couldn't guarantee for anything.

\----

There was no boat. No Otis, no plane. But at least his sign was untouched as well as his luggage. He went through all of his bags in search for the rest of his water and food, found a package of sunflower seed crackers and a Lindt 75% chocolate bar, ate both quietly on the bench in front of the cabin and after an hour grabbed his luggage and went inside. He changed into a pair of sweatpants and put a couple of big towels onto the mattress to hide the stains and spread some familiar detergent scent. He was tired and kind of down. Not even really angry. Just frustrated and fed up with an uncomfortable lump forming somewhere deep down his guts like a big warning sign. 'What if the situation gets worse. What if nobody comes.'

For some reason, it felt like fall all of sudden. Cool and gloomy. He lay down and pulled the blanket up, waiting to fall asleep. Somehow it didn't work though. Somehow his location seemed as isolated as a cabin on Mars. And somehow he would have given a damn lot right now for a bit of company...

It was dark by half-past seven in the evening and pitch-black an hour later. Around 10 PM the moon climbed over the mountaintops and sent some of its silvery light through the windows of Jim Tucker's Bush Luxury Wilderness Retreat Lodge. It didn't help the cause of sleeping, and after 15 more minutes, Negan gave up and left his little bedroom to get the laptop out of his bag. Maybe he would find something to work on that didn't require the internet.

\----

Half through the editing of a new leaflet, Negan looked up from his screen when something flickered by the window. Like a shadow rushing by. He squinted and waited a moment but it didn't come back. Probably just a bat.

Three sentences later his head shot up again as something touched the glass pane. It sounded as if somebody had tapped it with their fingertip. Just once and not very loud, but clearly audible in the absolute silence of the night. "What the-" Negan got up, grabbing the old wooden baseball bat leaning against the wall behind the door and slowly opened. The chill of the night air instantly created a trail of goosebumps along his arms and he couldn't deny a certain sense of tension speeding up his heartbeat when he made the first steps outside. "OTIS YOU OLD FART ...GET YOUR FAT ASS OUT OF THE BUSHES! CAN'T YOU KNOCK LIKE A NORMAL PERSON IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT?" He waited a moment, breathing hard, bat held up with both hands, ready to club whoever was out there. "WANNA STEAL SOME MORE OF MY SHIT? IS THAT YOUR FUCKIN' LITTLE GAME HERE? LURE PEOPLE IN THAT LIL' SHIT HOLE TO RIP THEM OFF?" He hated the small increase in confidence audible in his voice the longer he talked without any reaction. "Shit." He cursed and took the bat down, trying to make out a boat by the shore but couldn't see anything. He turned around to go back inside and just as he wanted to enter felt his heart skip a serious beat when he almost tripped over a black phone laying right in front of the wooden threshold. His phone. A slightly battered Samsung, completely covered in dried, muddy fingerprints. He spun around, taking the bat up again, his eyes flying from left to right in slight panic as a million thoughts shot through his head. Tucker? Otis? Both of them? Grimes and Simon fucking with him? Even a Bigfoot, the Blair witch, and fucking Chupacabras briefly crossed his mind.

Without taking his eyes off the threatening darkness surrounding him, he retreated backwards into the cabin, quickly picked up his phone and shoved the door shut with his foot. A heavy armchair was used to block the door handle, along with a broom and empty crate. He went to check the bedroom and bathroom, waited a while next to the front window to have a glance outside but couldn't see anything. Usually, he wasn't a guy who got scared easily or engaged in any drama while there was no proven reason to. But FUCK this shit was creepy. How could he lose his fucking phone in the middle of fucking nowhere, an hour march away from this godforsaken cabin, and then find it by his fucking doorstep in the middle of the night?! There was simply no logical explanation. Somebody must have seen him dropping it, climbed down that fucking slope and followed him back to the cabin to return it. Maybe a very polite Yeti. 

"Th." He huffed an uneasy laugh with a shake of his head and decided to take his new trusty friend the baseball bat to bed tonight. The mud-decorated phone got not more than a suspicious sideglance and was abandoned on the table, next to a laptop that featured a 'Low Battery' warning on its screen by now. "Great." Negan shut it ungently, stubbed his toe on the way to the bedroom with a very colorful curse, and fell asleep almost one hour later, royally pissed and undeniably worried.


	3. Oct 2nd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilderness 2 - Negan 0

In the morning of October the 2nd, the world looked a lot more accommodating, presenting itself with a bright blue sky, marvelous autumn colors, and a beautiful turquoise lake, small waves gently stirring up its shimmering surface.

Even the evil Samsung 10S+ on the kitchen table had lost its spooky vibe and just looked like a phone that had fallen into the mud and was found by asshole-Otis who kindly decided to return at least some property to the paying customer.

Negan rubbed some of the brown fingerprints off the display, unsuccessfully tried to turn it on, took the battery out and found the problem when he discovered the inside of his precious communication device wet like Sherry's dripping pussy on free fuck day. "Awesome." He sighed and then grimaced as he held the phone closer to his nose for a sniff, pretty sure to recognize the stench of urine. "Sick bastard..." With a shake of the head, he moved the furniture from the door to unblock it and put the pieces of his phone outside on the table to let it dry in the sun. There weren't any traces on the ground near the cabin, no note, not anything that would have indicated the late-night visit of his idiot host or the fucking boat guy. And since there was no way to contact any of them he decided to take care of other problems first. Food and water. 

The north shore of the lake was flat and not as forested as the other sides so he tried that direction, equipped with a backpack, three empty bottles, a small knife, an empty plastic bag, and his watch.

Most of the way was downhill but still, Negan needed almost two hours until he arrived somewhere close to the area he had envisaged. It paid off, though. Cranberry shrubs, huckleberries, and blueberry bushes as far as the eye could see. He ate a shit ton, not caring about the sugar overdose, picked a very generous bag full and went closer to the next trees, seeing some mushrooms he could identify. Chanterelles and grey morels. Maybe he would manage to make a fire and find a fucking pot in the filthy kitchen he had rented for a fucking fortune.

He cut two dozen off, tried not to smush them as he put one by one into the backpack and then left his new food stock behind when he heard the distinct gurgling of water somewhere deeper behind the treeline. And sure as hell did he find a stream. Fresh, clear water flowing over flat, mossy rocks. He squatted down to fill his bottles, put the first two in the grass next to him, filled up the third and immediately drank almost all of its content instead of screwing the cap on. It was the most delicious fucking liquid that had ever touched his tongue. He refilled the bottle, took another big gulp and then closed it before he gathered all three of them and rose back to his feet... nearly falling backward into the creek as he looked directly at a 600 lb bear. It didn't move, just stood there, not even a car length between them. "Shhit." Negan whispered his curse, the animal's tangy scent creeping up his nostrils. It wasn't a black bear but not a Grizzly either as far as he could tell. It moved its enormous head, coming just an inch closer and he made a step back, with one foot into the narrow stream, dropping two of the bottles. He could see how the bear got irritated instantly and then fell backward, hard and painfully onto the wet, mossy river gravel when suddenly somebody emerged from the trees to his left, grunting and throwing rocks at the animal.

A guy with sticky, longish hair. Bare feet and make-shift clothes. 

For a moment Negan was so taken aback that he forgot about the bear and when he remembered the deathly threat, saw that it ran away, obviously scared by all the stuff thrown in its direction. Negan scrambled to his feet, slipped once on the wet rocks and climbed hectically out of the water. "Fuck." He looked down at his soaked boots and then up at the stranger who still peered after the bear, another rock in hand, ready to throw if necessary.

"Thanks." Negan bent over, hands propped on his thighs, still breathing hard. "Didn't see him coming." The man didn't react and Negan squinted suspiciously at the strange top his savior wore. It looked like a leather jacket. "What the-" His leather jacket. Black, even though it was quite dirty now and worn the wrong way around, with the back part covering the guy's chest and the zipper hanging open in his back. "Is that my fucking coat?" He stood up straight, "Course it is!" and made a step towards the odd forest hermit, now noticing that he wore a pair of self-made pants that looked like olive green canvas from an old tent. "Did you come to my fuckin' cabin to steal my shit? Did you bring my ph-" He didn't get to finish the sentence before a rock was thrown right at his forehead with precise accuracy. "AOU!" He rubbed his head in slight confusion, checking his palm for blood and when he found a faint bit, nearly exploded in rage. "ARE YOU FUCKIN' CR-" Another rock hit him, this time his left cheek. It made him stumble and almost drop back into the stream, while the stranger took off and vanished between the trees. "HEY! THAT'S MY FUCKIN' JACKET, YOU LIL' ASSHOLE!" He followed the hermit for maybe five meters before he remembered the bear and realized how much his head hurt. "Fuckin' crazy people." He felt his throbbing forehead again, relieved that it didn't bleed any stronger and then gathered his water bottles, making his way back to his backpack. God, he hated Alaska with a vengeance. 

\----

Walking the way back uphill apparently took almost double the time, especially with wet clothes, a body aching in countless places, and boiling fury pulsing through his veins. And when he finally arrived back at his cabin and the wooden boat dock came into sight, he not only stopped dead in his tracks and dropped his arduously collected supplies, he also lost the pathetic remains of his sanity. "WHAT THE MOTHERFUCKING GOD DAMN FUCKIN' APESHIT!" There was no Otis, no boat, and no plane, but several crates and boxes, water, food and other stuff along with a brand new bright orange plunger and a piece of cardboard saying 'Didn't catch ya! Jimmy sends some stuff! See ya 'round!'.

A bloodcurdling roar cut through the quaint landscape of Lake Clark in the early evening of October the 2nd before every creature within a 30-mile radius got involuntarily entertained by a true city man's more than frustrated and very strident rant about the incompetent tourism industry, a much needed death penalty for criminal cabin owners, broken phones, and stinking-homicidal-jacket stealing-crazy people residing in the woods of Alaska and nearly killing him with deathly rock-missiles. It was a long rant and not over until every box, every crate, and a fucking rubber plunger was transported into J. Alfred Tucker's filthy cabin and the door was thrown shut with a bang that made a group of Emperor gooses spontaneously reconsider their abode for the night.

Negan went to bed just an hour later, pissed like never before, dirty, sweaty, and aching everywhere, a wet cloth on his bruised forehead.

...not able to fall asleep for a very long time. And when he finally was about to, the last thought his mind wandered to was his 1000 Dollar phone, the muddy fingerprints it was covered with, and the strange person who probably had left them there.


	4. Oct 3rd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilderness 2 - Negan 1

Negan was still in a foul mood when he woke up the next morning. Screw the fucking chirping birds in front of the window and the perfect picture-book weather. The nasty bruise that had built around the small cut on his forehead didn't look all too attractive and his leg, hip, and back looked even worse. Big, dark blue and purple discolorations from where he had fallen into the god damn fucking stream. He looked like he had been in a bar-fight and glowered at his reflection, pretty annoyed with himself and this so-called vacation.

He decided to stay at the cabin today, even though he was sure that Otis wouldn't make an appearance. He kept the pair of sweatpants on he had worn in bed, didn't bother to fix his hair or trim his stubble and not even flossed his teeth for the first time in probably 30 years.

The phone seemed to be dry by now but still refused to operate and since the laptop had complained about its battery the other day already, he didn't even consider to switch it on. Instead, he went through all the boxes his generous host had delivered. There were some tools and cleaning products, a plunger and batteries, but mostly they contained food. Nothing fancy. Rice, flour, pasta, legumes. Herbs and oil. Milk powder, dehydrated eggs, coffee, and tea. A stash of canned food and a box of shit that nobody needed, like candy, instant ramen, and cheese doodles. "Great." He flung a bag of Doritos on the kitchen counter, found a very cheap bottle of red wine and for a second considered to go back to bed and drink it before the meek rest of his dignity voted against it and won. The very last container at least was filled with remotely useful stuff. Apples, onions, cucumber, carrots, and potatoes. A head of cabbage and for some reason a single tomato. He sighed, rubbed it half-heartedly over the fabric of his sweat pants and ate it on the way out. A stinking cute squirrel dashed past him, made a break next to the water bucket to groom its tiny paws and then vanished behind a bush. He hated it with his entire heart.

The tomato was kinda good though and since he would probably die here anyway he even ate the fucking poisonous green part as he took a look around. On the cabin's left side was a stack of firewood, covered by a dirty blue plastic sheet. On the right side was a shed. A tiny one, secured with a rusty chain and padlock. Negan flashed his eyes at both, went back inside and stormed back out a minute later with a bolt cutter, striding straight towards the enemy. He rattled the chain once, positioned the cutter at the weakest link and destroyed the pathetic barrier in under five seconds. 

It smelled like old wood, paint, and gasoline inside the shed and obviously it had been used as a junk room over the years. Old pickle buckets, rope, oil lanterns, a fishing net, a canoe with a hole. Negan wasn't impressed. He moved some stuff aside, inspected a box with tools, found a cardboard box with some old toys, and then actually considered himself lucky to a certain extent as he discovered a generator beneath a pile of newspapers. The ghost of a smile tipped a corner of his mouth up as he found a gas canister right next to it and on a closer look three more on the shelf. "Look. At. That."

\----

The wilderness of Alaska didn't seem as wild and pristine anymore with a Briggs & Stratton P2200 PowerSmart to lull the common city man with the comforting sound of a solid, manmade power source. It was the first noise not being produced by pure nature and gave Negan a sense of control back that made him feel 50% better with the whole situation. He could work on his laptop, use the ancient coffee maker he had found in the kitchen and was even able to listen to some weird hillbilly radio station that played surprisingly good music. The fridge needed a while to do its job but in the early evening, he could enjoy a self-made glass of ice tea with artificial lemon flavor along with a can of tuna and a slice of cheap pre-sliced bread he had toasted in the now functioning oven. Normally that wouldn't have been a meal allowed in his house, but after three days of berries and protein bars, it almost tasted like a 5-star gourmet dinner. 

It had been a fairly warm day and the temperatures were stable until the evening, so he unpacked his bathing trunks and went for a swim in the lake instead of taking a shower like he was normally used to at the end of a long day. He dove in from the wooden pier, smoothly, arms above his head, and floated for a good bit with a perfectly straight body before he breached the surface, and instantly fell into a steady rhythm of powerful strokes, churning laps through the lake. The water was fucking cold but in a good way. Refreshing. It treated his skin like a potion, removing the irritations, aches, and tension of the past days. It reminded him of home and his childhood when swimming outside in nature had been still a thing. 

After the 11th lap with the shore still in sight, something moved near the small pier. He lost concentration and stopped. The sun already started to vanish behind the mountains, bathing the lake and its surroundings into a dull light, making it hard to see details. Negan kept still, his body under water up to the chin. He squinted when he saw it again. There was somebody. But for some reason, he didn't feel threatened this time and didn't even bother to say anything. He just waited and stared back for maybe half a minute before the figure moved again and vanished behind some trees. He was sure it was the odd guy from the forest and it made him wonder where he lived. The bear-area wasn't exactly around the corner, nor was the hiking trail he had lost his phone on. "Quite a roamer." He pursed his lips and made a side turn to swim another lap or two before the last bit of sunlight would be gone. 

\----

A pair of dripping Quicksilver bathing trunks spent the night outside of J. Tucker's Bush Luxury Wilderness Retreat Lodge to dry. A slightly battered Samsung 10S+ in ceramic black with stylish muddy fingerprints was put into a bag of cheap white rice as a last attempt to save it. And a man from Atlanta who had been forced by his employees to go on vacation due to a serious case of overwork and exhaustion fell in his saggy rental bed at not even 9 in the evening, worn out and tired in a pretty decent way, still feeling the cool of the lake water on his skin.


	5. Oct 4th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilderness 3 - Negan 1

The steady hum of a Briggs & Stratton P2200 PowerSmart heralded a new day in the backlands of Alaska on October the 4th, and a grey squirrel stopped in slight confusion on J. Tucker's picnic table, blinking at the strange noise coming from the usually very quiet log cabin, before it froze in shock when a heavy wooden door flew open and a tall, furious human appeared and discovered that he could put a 77,- Dollar pair of Quicksilver bathing shorts onto his list of missing items. "YOU THINK THAT'S FUCKIN' FUNNY, YOU LIL' RECLUSE!" He kicked the wooden wall with the very empty rusty hook he had used to hang his swimwear to dry. "DO I LOOK LIKE A FUCKIN' SHOPPING OUTLET?!" He kicked the same spot a second time, "FUCK!" and went back inside, angrily pulling the door shut behind him.

The squirrel blinked again and cocked its head, waiting a moment before it made a dash for the woods.


	6. Oct 5th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilderness 3 -Negan 1

October the 5th was a quiet day. Negan finished the leaflet for his company, sorted several folders of pictures, found an old Eagles album in the depths of his computer files and actually listened to it three times while he cleaned the bathroom, unpacked all of his luggage for convenience, and cooked himself some fried potatoes with a ton of onions. He ate them in the evening, outside, right out of the pan, sitting on the backrest of the bench as the sun began to set behind the mountains. It looked kinda nice and after the last fork, he decided to fill the water bucket for a quick outside wash. He brushed his teeth while wandering around in his front yard area, and then granted the flora and fauna of Alaska a grand view of his bare body when he stripped and scrubbed himself down with his 9 Dollar luffa and half a bottle of Khiel's body wash. He tipped his head back and dumped the rest of the cold water over his soapy frame, enjoying every second. 

The wet footprints he left on the way back inside would have driven him nuts on his ridiculously expensive hardwood floors in Atlanta. But here he really didn't care and even found them kind of amusing. The shirt and PJ bottoms he decided to wear for the night smelled faintly of resin after half a day in a wardrobe made of pinewood but he tried to ignore it, just like the third mosquito bite he counted on his already bruised and slightly battered body.

Around 11 o'clock he was still at his laptop, smiling at the screen without even noticing as he looked through more pictures, at least 8 years old. Friends, family, the reconstruction of his house, a trip to Europe and a cute boy he had met there. Good times.

He closed the folder, stretched his arms tiredly above his head, arched his back... and then looked up when he heard something clatter outside. He furrowed his brows and got up, glancing out of the window. It was pitch black, he couldn't see shit. But it clattered once more and he could guess what it was. He had forgotten the pan and fork outside on the bench. "Great." He sighed, congratulating himself on inviting probably half the critters of fuckin' Alaska to his cozy wood shack. He grabbed the baseball bat, one of the oil lantern and, "HEY!" banged the bat against the doorframe as soon as he opened the door, deciding that offense was the best defense. "FUCK OFF!" He held the lantern up as he made a step outside, hoping it was just a rat and not a family of fucking skunks, but as much as he tried, he couldn't see anything. The pan lay on the floor, the fork still on the bench. He picked up both and went back inside, having a distinct feeling that he was watched.

In the doorframe, he turned around a last time to shine the light of his lantern into the darkness, suddenly pretty sure that his visitor hadn't been four-legged.  
  



	7. Oct 6th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilderness 3 - Negan 2

On the 6th of October, Negan slept in. Something he hadn't done in almost a decade. And the only reason he woke up at almost noon was the sudden sound of an engine disturbing the peace and quiet of Lake Clark. He inhaled deeply, groaned as he lifted his head out of the pillows and then frowned. Because he was in bed and the generator couldn't start on its own.

The puzzled expression on a very well-rested face stayed firmly in place as he made his way to the door. He opened but stopped in the doorframe, surprised by what he saw. A man stood right next to the roaring gas generator. A man clad in a black pair of baggy Quicksilver bathing shorts and a muddy biker jacket that he wore the wrong way around. No socks, no shoes, no shirt. He wrinkled his nose underneath sticky long bangs and covered his ears, horrified by the loud noise the machine made.

Negan just watched him. Watched as he went back three steps. Watched as a small pebble stone was thrown at the generator. Watched a curios finger touching its metal surface for half a second. It almost made him smirk. "Too heavy to steal?" He raised his voice over the loud noise. "Maybe organize a fuckin' truck next time." A dirty face turned in his direction. Alarmed, maybe even frightened. A lot of grime on freckled skin, greasy unkempt hair, and a bit of dark blond fuzz covering chin and cheeks. Bright blue eyes that didn't look crazy at all. It wasn't really what Negan had expected. ...other than the small rock thrown in his direction a moment later. This time he had no problem to duck and he didn't see a reason to yell or follow the man as he ran off. He looked after him, though, for a long time. Wondering how a grown man could be scared of a generator, loud noise, or another human being.


	8. Oct 7th

October the 7th was a warm day and Negan had spent most of the morning outside, reading the book his thoughtful, fantasy-loving employee had made him take along. 'The Fellowship of the Ring'. He wasn't sure what to make of it and shook his head for the 20th time through the first 100 pages. All that fuss over a piece of fuckin' jewelry. He really couldn't relate and closed the book with a sigh, taking his bare feet off the picnic table. Maybe he should take a little nap. Or eat something. Or go on a walk. See whether he could find the little hermit's house and his poor abducted leather jacket.

30 minutes later he had changed into a pair of khaki shorts, the brand new trekking shoes he had bought especially for this trip, and made his way towards the west shore. 

It was a good hike. Almost 4 hours. Great scenery, beneficial workout, fresh air, and an awesome sandwich he had made himself with toasted bread, canned meat, mustard, and pickled onions. 

He had to admit he was a bit disappointed though that he couldn't find anything out there that looked like a house. Not even a tent or trailer. No campsite. No fireplace. Nothing.

It had probably been the wrong direction and didn't matter much when he arrived back at his cabin and spontaneously decided to go for a swim in the lake. In his underwear. 

Rarely in his adult life he had been as hungry as on the evening of October the 7th after 30 laps in Lake Clark. The good kind of hunger, when every cell of the body needed a refill and the stomach rumbled so loud that it couldn't be ignored. The kind of hunger that let a pack of Mac 'n Cheese taste like the finest food on earth.

He hung his wet swimwear substitute inside to dry that night and didn't even need three minutes before he fell into a deep, very relaxing sleep, the scent of resin, pine and lake water in his nose.


	9. Oct 8th

On October the 8th he started early after a nice breakfast. Southwards this time, hoping to find at least a little sign of human life out there. And at first, it seemed like he would be onto something when he discovered a used fire pit and a rusty bean can. But since it was the only thing he found and there wasn't any form of shelter, his excitement dimmed down pretty fast. 

After three hours he thought he would hear something behind the blackberry bushes to his left, asked his potential stalker to come out and introduce himself, but nothing happened. It made him feel kind of stupid and after encountering a huge cloud of mosquitos near a stream he trudged back to his cabin. 

When he arrived, the air had grown heavy, humidity pressing down with the prominent scent of rain, sweet and heady. Dark clouds covered the sky and the distant roar of thunder rumbled behind the mountain range. It was unfortunate that he wouldn't be able to jump into the lake to cool his feet and the 11 fucking itchy bites all over his skin but a nice homecooked meal to a concert of the Eagles sounded good as well.

On the way to the cabin, he stopped and frowned, noticing that the door to the shed stood wide open and a few things lay scattered in the grass. Three paintbrushes in a perfect row, an empty pickle bucket upside down and the shoebox with the collection of old toys and trinkets on top of it. He pursed his lips and went closer. The intruder had either been a very smart bear cub or a little hermit with a real strange idea of afternoon entertainment. "That little fuckin' weasel." He took a blue marble out of the box, nudged a deck of well used UNO playing cards that looked really retro and then flicked the lid of the shoebox shut and brought everything back inside the shed. He pushed the door shut just as the first thick raindrops hit his bare arms.

And after a minute it wasn't just rain, it was a downpour. The droplets were the size of almonds, pounding the wooden roof of Tucker's little log cabin like bullets from above while cracks of lightning split the air, followed within seconds by the rolling boom of thunder. 

Negan didn't really care. The pathetic holiday home he had rented wasn't good for much, but at least it was dry and even offered a kind of cozy ambiance during all the fucking drama mother nature caused outside. 

He changed into something comfortable, enjoyed a surprisingly tasty bowl of ramen for dinner and a nice cup of tea afterwards in the armchair by the window. Around ten in the evening, he put the silly hobbit-book down, arched his back and got up, pleasantly tired. Why not hit the pillows early as long as he had the chance and nothing else to do.

He put the oil lantern by the window out and glanced outside for a last time when the dark sky shook once more with the roar of thunder. Rain still fell in buckets, cascading like a waterfall from the heavens. Negan let his eyes wander over the wild scenery when a bolt of glaring white lit up the sky for the matter of a second, wondering whether the weasely little jacket stealing hermit was still nearby. Wondering if he was looking for shelter.


	10. Oct 9th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilderness 3 - Negan 3

October the 9th started as if nothing had happened. The sky was as bright and blue as a virgin's prom dress, the birds were chirping happily like they were starring in a fucking Disney movie, and a pretty butterfly fluttered innocently in front of the cabin's window when its slightly grumpy tenant sipped the first cup of coffee at almost eleven in the morning with a glance outside... that turned into a scrutinizing squint after 9 seconds. "What the god damn fuckin'-"

A man sat on the picnic table. Cross-legged. Longish, unkempt hair falling into his face as he carved a small piece of wood with a sharp-edged stone. He wore a pair of black Quicksilver bathing trunks to a very dirty leather jacket that he had put on the wrong way around with the back part covering his chest. 

Negan slowly scrunched up his nose behind the windowpane, seeing his beloved jacket in such a disastrous state, and put the coffee cup down with an angry clank before he tore the door open and trudged outside. "Enjoying the splendid weather?" The only reaction he received was a chip of wood flying to the left but otherwise, he was completely ignored. "Nice outfit!" The man didn't turn around, just sniffed his nose and worked the stone along his wooden stick, making more splints fall to the ground. Negan furrowed his brows, coming closer. "You know where I come from it is common courtesy to ask for permission before you climb on people's furniture like a fuckin' chimpanzee." Again he was completely ignored and he tilted his head to the right as he touched the man's shoulder. "Hey! I am talking to you!" This time he got a grunt and his hand was blindly pushed off. Negan pushed back. "Could you fuckin' turn ar-" He didn't get to finish his sentence before an impressively sharp stone was thrown at his face, hitting his left brow like a shrapnel. "AOU!" He stumbled a step back, "FUCK!" and got surprised by a gush of fresh red blood as he touched the cut on his face with three fingers. "You fuckin' psycho!"

The stranger seemed to be alarmed by the sudden furious outburst and jumped off the wooden table, trying to run away but wasn't fast enough.

"YOU STAY THE FUCK HERE!" Negan grabbed him by the hem of the open leather jacket, jerked the man back, glad when he saw a recognizable sense of fear in wide blue eyes. "WHAT! Out of rocks, you lil' shit?!" The stranger tried to pull free, grunting and struggling before he attempted to bite. Negan growled, seriously pissed, and threw the man to the ground. "STOP IT!" His victim clearly wasn't a weakling but suffered a disadvantage due to his smaller height and as hard as he tried couldn't fight his attacker off. Negan tightened his grip and used the opportunity to get his jacket back, ripping it ungently off the man's body. And it wasn't until the second sleeve was pulled off before he noticed the thick red drops falling from his brow onto a dirty face, distorted with fear. The person in his relentless hold stared up at him in panic, breathing hard and fast, short from hyperventilating. And they remained for a few seconds like this, staring at each other before Negan let go with a last warning push, and got off, back to his feet. He panted himself, wiping the thick wetness off his face... watching the half-naked stranger turning around and curling up instantly, arms up for a bit of shelter. He looked small all of sudden, almost like a scared child even though he was clearly mature, probably in his thirties. "Get the fuck up." Negan nudged him with his foot, the anger mostly gone from his voice. And to his surprise, his order was followed. The guy waited about three seconds and then scrambled to his feet and bolted off, running towards the nearest trees to vanish between them. Negan didn't stop him. He just took his jacket and went back inside with a curse, throwing the door shut.

\----

October the 9th ended as idyllic as it had started, with a gorgeous sunset, bathing the range of mountains around Lake Clark into rich shades of red and orange. Negan watched it from the water, swimming his laps near the shore. He really started to like his new workout in the evenings and already mourned the lack of nature around his industrial home in Atlanta.

He dove under the surface, came back up two seconds later, water running freely over his face. He wiped his hair back, ignoring the slight sting above his brow as he cast a glance at the shore. The right side where the reeds grew.

He squinted and kept still, seeing a man sitting there, quietly watching him. A man with tousled hair and bare chest. 

Negan moved his hands slowly through the calm water to stay in place, and after a moment of consideration dove beneath the surface again. Deep and for a longer time. Making the stranger by the shore curiously crane his head. 

When Negan came back up, water dripped off his nose and bearded chin. He wiped the wet hair out of his face, swimming towards the wooden boat dock where he lifted himself smoothly out of the water. But he didn't use the towel he had placed there and didn't go back inside. Instead, he sat down, his knees pulled up to his chest and watched the reeds waving gently in the evening breeze. The man sitting there watched him back. For two minutes, three, maybe more. 

...before Negan lunged out and threw the pebble stone he had retrieved from the lake's ground. It was a flat one without any sharp edges and landed exactly where he had aimed, right in front of the stranger's bare feet. The orange light provided by the setting sun didn't reveal the surprise on the man's face but he saw him picking the stone up and inspecting it for quite a while before he rose to his feet, looked directly at Negan and then slowly vanished with his gift behind the treeline.


	11. Oct 10th

October the 10th was a quiet day, without any planes, bears, or hermits visiting Tucker's Bush Luxury Wilderness Retreat Lodge at the south shore of Lake Clark and Negan used it to read, cook a stew, and unsuccessfully work on the pipes installed in his rental bathroom.


	12. Oct 11th

On October the 11th, there was still no plane, but a bear far off at the north shore, and a man wearing only a pair of Quicksilver bathing trunks. He stood on the pier, gazing at the lake when Negan stepped outside with his second cup of coffee at 8.30 in the morning.

And he stayed near the little log cabin for the rest of the day. He didn't say anything and kept a cautious distance, but he observed curiously every of Negan's moves.

Negan made a mean spaghetti sauce for lunch with dried pasta and a poor excuse for Parmesan from a little silver package. He ate it outside, sitting at the wooden picnic table, pretending to ignore the man in a 10-foot distance. He could smell his unwashed skin and see the piece of moss sticking to his unkempt hair, wondering once again where he lived, whether he had any form of shelter at all.

"You do realize that there's a shitload of water right in front of you, right." He said it casually but loud enough, gesturing with his fork towards the lake. "No need to run around reeking like a skunk's ass while I try to enjoy my meal here." He didn't get any answer and didn't say anything else until he finished his pasta and went back inside to grab a drink. A can of cheap beer, that he just wanted to open on his way back out when he saw his visitor sniffing the empty dishes he had left on the table. He stopped, just quietly watching, the hint of a smile tipping up the corner of his mouth.


	13. Oct 12th

"Had this fuckin' thing for almost two decades!" On October the 12th in the late morning, a man with tousled hair and dirty face sat on the wooden boat bridge at the shore of Lake Clark and watched with huge curiosity how a tall, angry stranger did his best to clean his re-claimed biker jacket. "Treated it like my god damn fuckin' child! Bit of wax, bit of air-cleaning. Never had any issues." 

Negan used the softest cloth he could find to rub it over the mistreated leather, wrinkling his nose as he noticed the stench coming off the material. "Took me a trip to the fucking boondocks and a rude, irresponsible asshole like you to damage it! Probably for fuckin' good!" He dropped the wet cloth and held the jacket up, inspecting his work. The visible dirt was gone but the leather had two long scratches and for some reason, the whole thing smelled like ammonia. He held it closer to his nose, sniffing. "Did you fuckin' piss on it?" Big blue eyes framed by grimy skin and greasy hair looked at him without a hint of guilt or acknowledgment, before the man got to his feet and left, vanishing behind the reeds. Along with a pair of formerly black Quicksilver bathing trunks. Negan watched, then put the jacket back down on the wooden planks and continued scrubbing. "Fuckin' crazy people." He would definitely sue for compensation once he would get a hold of fucking Tucker.

In the evening it got remarkably cooler. Negan had taken a swim in the lake and could feel the chill of the autumn wind creeping up his bones long after he had made his way back inside the cabin. He read a bit, spooned up some extra hot ravioli from the can and was already on his third cup of cheap peppermint tea when he got up with a sigh and decided to call it a day. He glanced out of the front window. The treetops were bending and leaves tumbled through the half-dark. He pursed his lips, observed the scenery in front of his cabin a moment longer and finally put his oil lamp out, going to bed.

\----

32 minutes later, the heavy wooden door of J.A.Tucker's Bush Luxury Wilderness Retreat Lodge opened and a tall man in expensive sleepwear and bare feet stepped outside. He put a grey hoodie on the rusty hook at the south wall of his cabin. It was of good quality, one of his favorites. Well worn and washed a hundred times, but still thick and comfy. He was pretty sure it would be gone in the morning. Or at least he hoped it would be as he went back inside, the cool night air hitting his back.


	14. Oct 13th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilderness 4 - Negan 3

October the 13th started as a typical fall day. Crisp air, a bit foggy, rich colors and a golden sun rising from behind the mountain range. The generator ran for about 30 minutes in front of the little log cabin on the south shore of Lake Clark and soon the distinct smell of black coffee added to the perfect morning. 

At 9:30 AM, Negan had already cleaned a bit, made the bed, taken a quick lakewater-wash over the bucket, and dressed in his hiking gear. A white merino wool long sleeve shirt, gray hiking pants, the new Salomon X Ultra hiking boots for a steal of 229 dollars, and his red, breathable, waterproof Gore-Tex rain jacket. Just in case. 

Since his phone still refused to show any sign of life and he figured that asshole Otis wouldn't make an appearance after all that rainy weather, he wanted to make most of the day and go for an extra-long hike. Get some exercise and increase his energy levels. And frankly... there wasn't anything else to do here at the arse-end of nowhere.

For the first hour, he followed the trail he had found on a tourist-hiking-map from 1994 that good old Jim had generously left for his guests on the small shelf near the door. And it wasn't too bad. It took him to a neat brook that babbled along twisted paths, snaking around ancient trees with moss-covered roots. Criss-crossed and gnarled, beautiful as a fucking picture book illustration. At times, the path rose in steep, uneven rocky steps and he welcomed the little challenge, even using his hands now and then to climb. For the longest time the only noise was the distant gurgling of water and the only movement the occasional bird startling in a tree or a squirrel dashing up a nearby trunk. ...he thought. Until he heard something behind him. Someone. A man sniffing his nose soundly. He squinted suspiciously and looked back over his shoulder, needing a moment to make out the person standing in a 20-foot distance. He didn't seem to hide or feel caught. He just stood there, barefoot, in a pair of bathing trunks and much too big hoodie, obviously waiting for the tour to continue.

Negan huffed a laugh and hooked his thumbs into the straps of his backpack, keeping on walking with a shake of the head. "You know, stalking is illegal in all 50 states, right." Of course, he didn't get a reaction but didn't mind too much either that he was followed. It was kind of nice. At least the little hermit was a quiet companion, and all the stench he exuded would probably keep any hungry bears at bay. 

Another thirty minutes later the generously provided hiking map had lost all its purpose when the marked trail no longer existed. The brook was gone and there wasn't any recognizable path between the trees, that suddenly grew so thickly that there wasn't undergrowth at all. Beneath his multifunctional hiking boots were only the remnants of branches and needles that had fallen in the recent high winds and he wound his way through the skinny trunks, trying not to get his backpack wedged. "So much for payin' fuckin' taxes." He pushed some branches aside and ducked his head. "Could they use 2.80 dollar to lay out some god damn wood-chips or place a couple of garbage bins along the route. Fuckin' bureaucrats." He looked to the left when his silent follower suddenly walked right next to him, obviously having no difficulties to navigate through all this unspoiled nature, bare feet and all. Negan sighed and then cursed when a dry twig hit him in the face. 

Around noon there was still no footpath available but at least the forest presented itself a bit more user-friendly with wider spread trees that let the sun through and allowed a ton of huckleberry bushes to flourish. Negan appreciated that and watched his companion go from one shrub to the other, picking berries and eating them, with brief stops to blink up at the sun or to wipe his mouth into the too-long sleeve of his grey hoodie. "I suppose you have a good laundromat in the neighborhood." 

The young man didn't react, just glanced up to locate the woodpecker he heard. 

Negan stopped, picked up a small rock, "Ksst." and threw it. It landed with a slight rustle right next to the guy's foot and in an instant a dirty face turned to look at him with blue eyes, holding no resentment at all but an almost childlike curiosity. Another already gathered berry was blindly shoved between blue-ish lips as the man crouched down to have a look at the pebble. He examined it from all sides, glanced back at the tall person who had thrown it and then put the small gift into the hood of his sweater as if it was an attached bag, before he gave his attention back to the berry bushes.

"That's it?" Negan picked one himself, ate it, picked another, threw it directly at the rude hermit's shoulder, "No thank you?" and then was a little taken aback when he clearly heard a brief, rough chuckle and the man turned around to throw one back at him, showing a smile. It looked as pretty and genuine as the rest of this forest. 

An hour later they reached a glade. A nice, open area with grassy meadows under the canopy of deciduous trees. For a while Negan had lost sight of his berry-stained shadow but as soon as he sat down on a mossy log and started to rummage through his backpack, the man reappeared and came even closer, sitting down right in front of his feet to watch like a hawk as several items were pulled out of the bag. A water bottle, the useless trail map, a bag of nuts, no-name beef jerky, and a huge sandwich. Cucumber, canned meat, and cheap mayonnaise. It was edible.

"Hm?" After the third bite, Negan tore a piece off and held it out. 

His companion gave him a wary look, flicked some filthy hair out of his face and then took the little piece of sandwich without a comment. It wasn't eaten, though, just put on the mossy tree log.

"Stocking up for winter?" Negan arched his brows at the inquisitive looks he was given, especially every time he took a bite from his sandwich or sipped his water. "You really are quite some oddball, right."

The man didn't answer but accepted a piece of beef jerky he was given and put it next to his share of sandwich on the tree log before he started to inspect the Jack Wolfskin backpack. Not so much the content but more the texture and design. He touched the zipper and buckles, the side mesh pocket, and pulled the elastic cord threaded through tie-out loops in the front. 

Negan let him. And didn't even say anything when his sunglasses were unpacked, his wallet and a pen that he hadn't even realized was in there. The most attention, however, received the soft cushioning at the back of the bag. It was sniffed and rubbed, sniffed a bit more and then the whole backpack was picked up and a dirty face got pressed against it.

Negan wasn't sure whether he should feel flattered or grossed out since the back-cushioning was probably soaked with sweat after hours of hiking. "Are you done wiping your snot into my shit?" He reached out to grab the backpack and claim it back but was dismissed with a grunt and it was carried into a safe distance and inspected further. The short zipper at the right side, the carabiner hook attached to the buckle on the left, and the secret inner pocket meant for traveler's checks or credit cards before the elastic cord was removed completely from the bag's front. "Would you fuckin' stop that?" Negan just wanted to get up to put an end to the destruction of his property, when the bag was suddenly abandoned and his hiking companion rose to his feet and vanished between the trees, taking the black elastic cord of a formerly brand new Jack Wolfskin backpack with him. "Yeah, why the fuck not!" Negan went to collect his scattered stuff off the ground, speaking so loud that a cute little robin turned tail and fled in panic. "Just take everyfuckingthing I own!" He stuffed all the items into the bag and dropped it near the tree log before he sat down again, muttering. "Fuckin' stinkin' little weasel."


	15. Oct 14th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilderness 5 - Negan 3

Summer decided to make a brief reappearance on October the 14th, luring the tall, rather grumpy townsman from Atlanta out of his rental cabin to the shores of Lake Clark to read a bit at the picnic table. Bare-chested, feet up, sunglasses in place, trying to get a bit of tan before winter.

Admittedly the book wasn't a pageturner but now that he had started to invest time and energy into this ridiculous world of hobbits and other pointy-ear people he kinda felt the need to finish it. 

...and he made it without a pause all the way to page 203 before he got distracted by a splashing noise coming from the little wooden pier. He took the book down, squinting through his Rayban's.

A man with longish hair and black, kind of baggy bathing trunks had jumped into the lake, leaving a grey, hoodie-shaped pile of clothing behind.

"Look at that." Negan crossed his ankles on the table, leaning back into his bench comfortably. "Little skunk-ass takes a bath." He watched as a head breached the lake's surface, again and again, when the man swam and dove down, snorting water from his mouth and nose. It was kind of impressive. Who would have thought that the weasely hermit was such a great swimmer. 

And while Negan still watched and wondered whether he should maybe offer a bottle of shampoo or a bit of body wash to make the cleaning session more successful, the man suddenly vanished beneath the surface and didn't come back up again. For a long ass time. So long, that Negan took his feet off the table, got up from his bench, and lifted the shades off his eyes in an attempt to see better. "What the bleeding fuck..." He stared at the beautiful turquoise water, not even realizing that he held his breath... and then let it out with a muttered curse when finally his little forest stalker emerged again as if nothing had happened. He swam back towards the dock and heaved himself out of the water in a surprisingly elegant move. 

Negan went a step closer, squinting his eyes again as he noticed the wiggly thing little hermit had brought along. He smacked it against the wooden planks of the landing pier three times before it stopped wiggling and then brought it with both hands to his mouth for a hearty bite right in its middle. "What the-" Negan grimaced, slight nausea swashing through his stomach when he realized that it was a fucking raw fish straight from the lake that served little skunk-ass as lunch over there. The sight reminded him instantly of that weird Smeagol personage from Rick's book, before images of three feet long tapeworms danced through his disgusted mind. "Good fuckin' Lord almighty." He scrunched up his nose when the guy took another big bite and then grabbed his book and turned away, going back into the house to disinfect his entire body and blind his eyes with a screwdriver from Tucker's toolbox. Holy shit, these Alaskans were fuckin' crazy.


	16. Oct 15th

On October the 15th, while cooking a chicken noodle soup with instant broth and the cheapest, thinnest vermicelli the western world had ever produced, Negan had a great idea for a new product that would surely sell like hot cakes. And since he wasn't able to send an e-mail to his employees or give them a quick call, he grabbed a notepad and pencil and wrote it all down. Outside. While eating his soup and enjoying the spectacular view.

It was maybe a bit old school, but he couldn't remember when he had used a pen and paper for the last time to work on a new product. Have a brainstorm with himself. Outline the idea. Draw a rough draft. It was kinda nice and the soup he had with it didn't taste as bad and unnutritious as he had feared. 

After 15 minutes, he was so absorbed in his work that he didn't even notice the young man approaching him, and only glanced up when somebody took a seat right next to him on the bench, soundly sniffing his nose.

"What the fuck are you doing here." He was a bit irritated, seeing his weird forest buddy so close. Close enough to see his dark blond eyelashes, a speck of dirt sticking to his left cheek, and the purplish berry stains on a grey hoodie. Of course, he didn't get an answer, and not for the first time wondered whether the little hermit actually spoke English. "Hope you brushed your fuckin' chompers after that sushi meal yesterday." He turned back to his notepad, irritated once more when blue eyes innocently blinked at him through tousled bangs.

He doodled for a moment, ate another spoon full of soup and wrote down a few material options the production team in Atlanta could experiment with... before a freckled nose sniffed his upper arm and two fingers touched the scruff on his jawline.

He put the pencil down, turning his head. "Just for your information, that would be enough to get you arrested for sexual harassment where I come from." Despite his words, he didn't try to avoid the dirty fingertips touching his mouth, obviously fascinated by the words it produced.

The man examined Negan's lips and then looked him straight in the eye and for a second Negan thought he wanted to say something. It didn't happen though. Instead, his guest focussed on the bowl of soup. He sniffed it, stuck two fingers in, licked the broth off and then grabbed the bowl with both hands, drinking in big gulps.

"Sure!" Negan waved a hand, leaning into the backrest of the bench. "Help yourself! Not like I have to ration my fuckin' food out here since that fuckin' asshole Tucker is obviously tryin' to starve me in the wilderness."

The young man showed no sympathy for Negan's problem. He emptied half of the bowl, then took it down and stuck his tongue out, grimacing as if he had tasted something foul. He scraped off the noodle sticking to his tongue, observed it briefly and then flicked it to the ground, classifying the pasta as not edible.

"On low carb?" Negan lifted a skeptical eyebrow but was only presented another soggy noodle in response. He sighed with a shake of the head when it was smeared on the edge of the table. "Of course." He got up, going back inside to grab a second bowl of food... but stopped on the way back at the window, glancing outside. His rude lunch guest had finished the stolen meal and now confiscated the pencil and notepad. Negan went closer to the pane, squinting. It looked like the little weasely hermit scribbled something on his fucking product concept. "That little asshole." He put the bowl of soup down on the windowsill and stomped out of the door. "What's with you fuckin' forest people, constantly taking shit that's none of your god damn fuckin' business!" With three big steps, he had reached the table, tearing the notepad out of dirty fingers. "Keep your fuckin' hands off my sh-" He didn't get to finish the sentence before a spoon hit his face. "STOP THROWING STUFF AT ME YOU FUCKIN' FREAK!" Negan held his nose and was pushed a step back with an almost disappointed sounding grunt before his uninvited guest stomped off to vanish in the woods, a pencil in hand.

\----

For the rest of the day, Negan wasn't in the best mood. He took a nap, worked a while on his laptop, and didn't feel like going for a swim in the evening. He watched the sunset from his place on the bench in front of the house... his eyes just staring blankly at the beautiful scenery while his mind wandered to the events earlier that day. To the man following him like a shadow since he had arrived here. His clothes and unkempt appearance. His obvious lack of any belongings whatsoever. How he had scared the bear off and brought his phone back.

Negan pursed his lips, his face serious. He really wondered how long that guy had been out here on his own. Whether he maybe needed help.

He inhaled deeply, stretched his tired back, his arms and neck, and just as he wanted to get up and go back inside, he noticed the slightly crinkled notepad laying on the ground beneath the wooden table. He picked it up, frowning as he gave it a closer look. There was his product sketch and the notes he had made. And right underneath three words, all written in capital letters only, in a very basic, crooked handwriting.

_**CAT** _

_**CAR** _

_**CAKE** _

The pencil had been used with too much pressure, leaving a clear imprint through the next 10 pages of the notepad. He traced one of the words briefly with his finger, reminded of his own first writing attempts at the age of maybe 5 or 6 years old.

"Hm." He got up with a sigh and went back inside. Suddenly almost happy with the fact that his silly pencil had been taken.


	17. Oct 16th

On October the 16th, Negan woke up pretty early, feeling full of energy and zest for action. He missed his work, missed his coffee, and the hum of the Vitamix while it prepared a totally nutritious on-the-go breakfast. 

It just wasn't his thing to sit around or sleep till noon. He hated wasting time, even here in the god damn fucking wilderness. So he cleaned the dishes after breakfast, cleaned the bathroom, made the bed, and after that went outside to dig through the little shed near his cabin in search for rope. He found several options and picked a plastic one in blue that he attached to a makeshift pole he rammed into the ground before he tightened the other end to the rusty hook at the cabin wall. It was maybe not as good as the LG Electronics dryer he had at home, but it would certainly do the job. In his suitcase, he found a tiny bar of hotel soap from his last trip to Washington that didn't smell too bad and used it as a substitute for real detergent to wash his underwear, socks and shirts, outside, in front of the cabin in a bucket of lake water. He wasn't sure though whether his little camping laundry-attempt was actually doing something good... and even the young man who showed up after a while to watch seemed skeptic. He scratched the back of his head when Negan wrung out his dripping shirt and draped it over the clothesline to dry in the autumn sun.

"Yeah, you better watch closely, boy." Negan grabbed a pair of boxer shorts to soak in the soapy water. "Just because you live at the fucking arse-end of civilization doesn't mean you have to run around like a vagabond."

The man wrinkled his nose underneath his greasy bangs, looking from Negan's face to the water bucket and back again before he reached out for the tiny white bar of soap. He took it out of Negan's hand and lost it immediately when it slipped through his fingers and flopped back into the water bucket. He furrowed his brows, sniffing his palm, then held it out for Negan to do the same.

"Not familiar with the concept of hygiene?" Negan shoved the wet hand aside, muttering. "Who would have thought." He scrubbed his underwear for a while in the water, wrung it out and then waved with it towards the line he had installed. "Here. Hang it up. Might as well make yourself useful." He had to wave again and then a third time right in front of the man's blank face before the wet piece of laundry was taken, sniffed at, examined for a while and then carried straight past the blue cord towards the beautiful forest behind J. Tucker's little cabin where it eventually vanished.

Negan glanced back over his shoulder, both hands in the water bucket, "What the-" dropped the sock he was about to clean, turned around, "HEY!", realized pretty quickly that his underwear was probably gone forever and with a deep scowl on his face turned back to his bucket, scrubbing the poor sock probably a bit too ungently. "Goddamn cleptomaniac forest people! Would steal my fucking dick if it wasn't attached!"

\----

In the afternoon, Negan searched for more gasoline in the shed to work out whether he had to budget his precious generator time or not. There were three full canisters on the shelf, another one behind the canoe with the hole and when he dug a bit deeper and went behind the impressive web construction of a whole spider clan, he found a fifth one that was even bigger. He also discovered a box of nails, a fishing rod, and the possibilities of a heart attack when "WHAT THE SHIT!" all of sudden a person stood right behind him with the most innocent expression on a grimy face. "Can't you goddamnfucking say something!" He actually held a hand to his chest to prevent his wildly pumping heart from jumping out, "Shit." and then left the little shed with a shake of the head, pushing past the rude intruder. "If you wanna murder me just get it the fuck over with."

The young man didn't say anything and didn't follow. He stayed behind in the shed. At least Negan figured that he was still in there, one hour later, as he left his little cabin with bare chest and a towel tucked under his arm to make himself comfortable on the sturdy wooden outside table, trying to catch a bit of the afternoon sun. He stretched out with a sigh, one arm behind his head, sunglasses in place and was just about to doze off, when he heard a faint clatter from the shed, followed by five minutes of strange tinkering noises and then a clatter again that sounded as if something big had fallen over. He turned his head, opening his eyes behind his shades... just in time to see a young man coming his way, hair disheveled, his sweater berry-stained, carrying a roll of tinfoil like a precious bird's egg. This time he didn't steal his findings though, just stopped several times to look at it and then brought it straight up to the table, holding it out.

"'s that."

Negan squinted an eye behind his dark glasses, not sure if he had heard correctly. But the gruff words were repeated just a moment later, loud and clear, as the tinfoil was held half an inch over his face.

"'s that."

"Tinfoil. You wrap your fucking sandwich in it if you don't give a crap about the environment." He tried to sound as unaffected as possible but was actually a tad excited. Who would have thought that the little weasely hermit could really speak and obviously understood the English language just fine considering that he quietly repeated the word 'sandwich', twice, before he rolled half a meter of foil off, held it up and touched the shiny material with his whole face, breathing against it.

Negan groaned as he heaved his long legs off the table and got up, taking the tinfoil out of his guest's hands. "Yeah, it's bad enough that some idiots produce that shit, you don't have to waste it."

\----

In his childhood, Negan had been a big fan of campfires. He would ask his grandfather for it every time he got to visit him. He had loved the smell, the wild sparks swirling through the night air, and the taste of smores and stick bread.

Now, on the other hand, sitting right in front of that shit, he wasn't sure why he had found it so appealing. It was a ton of work to get the whole thing going and then it wasn't exactly pleasant to hang out in a cloud of smoke in freshly washed clothes, inhaling a ton of carbon monoxide and probably damaging his respiratory system for good. 

The little hermit right next to him though seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. He stared at it with the very hint of a smile crooking his lips, poked the embers with a stick to produce more glowing sparks, and then almost crawled over Negan's leg and arm to have a better look and not to miss anything when finally after almost an hour the little round package of aluminum foil was pulled out of the fire and unwrapped to reveal a perfectly cooked potato.

"Ma sammich." 

Negan lifted his elbow to keep his dinner guest at distance. "It's not your fucking sandwich, it's my potato. And where I come from we stay on our fucking butt and wait until dinner is served."

The young man ignored the lecture, "Ma sammich." and pulled his too long hoodie sleeves over his dirty fingers to grab the potato and bring it to safety in a 5-foot distance, turning his back to Negan before he started to eat right from the foil.

"You are the rudest fucker I've ever met, you know that?" Negan shook his head once and got a second potato out of the bed of glowing embers, wishing he had some grated cheddar and black pepper.

"Nah." The young man from the forest dismissed the accusation in raucous tone and shoved another clump of soft potato between his lips before he licked his palm. 

Negan sighed, carefully pulling the aluminum foil apart to not burn his fingers. Fucking impolite people everywhere.

\----

Negan hadn't brought his watch outside but he figured it must have been close to midnight. After five potatoes, a nice bottle of water and half a pack of stale cookies he had to admit the idea with the campfire hadn't been his worst after all. He even enjoyed his company to some extent. It was nice to have a person to talk to after all this time of involuntary solitude out here in the wilderness. Not that the little hermit was very talkative, but he seemed to be an attentive listener. And truth be told, Negan never shied away from leading a good chat. He talked about some article he had read concerning the increase of water pollution in Alaska, the incompetent accountant he had to fire last month, the new tiles in his bathroom at home, and the one summer in Kentucky when he was eight years old and found a fucking big snake in his grandpa's cornfield. 

His one-man-audience had gotten noticeably tired after a while. Negan could see how the man's eyelids dropped a few times before he changed from a sitting position into a lying one. But obviously he didn't want to fall asleep, because every time there was a long pause or the story seemed to end, five protesting fingers reached out to touch Negan's arm or leg, reminding him to keep talking.

Negan didn't mind. Not even the slight unpleasant scent his little forest buddy exuded. He kept talking and throwing new twigs into the fire until his arm was no longer touched and a soft snoring sound added to the crackling of burning wood.

And even then he waited for another 20 minutes in the peace and quiet of the nightly scenery of Lake Clark before he got up and went inside, deciding to let his guest sleep by the warm fire. 


	18. Oct 17th

The fire was dead and the little weasely forest hermit gone when Negan stepped in front of his rented log cabin in the late morning of October the 17th. The ground looked like it had been raining a few hours ago, but now the sky was blue and the sun shining brightly. The temperatures didn't exactly scream summer, but it was warm enough to risk a swim in the lake to start the day and get the body running since the cheap cup of coffee he had available did a piss poor job on that matter.

In order to keep the dirty laundry at a minimum, he left his underwear on the little wooden pier along with an extra-large, 100% Egyptian cotton Abyss towel featuring a decorative capital N embroidered at the bottom center. 

He dove into the water with a gentle splash, coming up again after 18 seconds, 50 feet away from the dock, to start a serious workout. 60 laps were the ambitious plan. After 43 he noticed that he had an onlooker, standing on the pier in a dirty grey hoodie and stolen bathing shorts. After 45 he stopped when obviously the luxurious towel and underwear left behind were much more interesting than his swim training. "HEY!" He smoothed his wet hair back, happy when his loud protest made the young man flinch. "Steal my fuckin' towel and I bite your sticky fingers off!" His forest buddy gave him a wary look, wrinkled his nose and then sat down on the dock, flicking a strand of greasy hair out of his face. Negan waited a moment, "That's better." before he started on his last 15 laps.

By the time he was done, the young man still sat quietly on the little wooden pier and he even stayed firmly in place when Negan gracefully lifted himself out of the water. He sniffed his nose, curiously looking up the tall, dripping body, until his eyes stopped on the bare middle. He flicked his head again, attempting to reach his hand out and touch what he saw but then seemed to reconsider his plans and just exhaled a little sigh.

Negan rubbed the towel over the back of his head and neck, glancing down. "Would you not stare at my fuckin' dick, please?" His voice was underlined with a tad of amusement as the young man peered up at him in slight distress, scratching his left ear. "What? You've never seen one before?" He arched his brows and then kindly decided to cover himself with the big, white sauna towel he had brought all the way from civilized Atlanta. "Was yours gnawed off by a bear?" He didn't get an answer, smirked and patted a dirt-smeared cheek, "Hope not." before he picked up the underwear and made his way back to the cabin.

It was warm enough inside to smooth down his goosebumps and even the cheap coffee tasted alright after an hour in cool lake water. He poured himself a second cup, took a sip and then paused, glancing back over his shoulder when the door swung open and a young man stood on his doorstep, wiping his nose with the back of his wrist.

"Didn't find the bell?"

His uninvited guest ignored the comment and walked in as if it was the most common thing to do. He went straight to the table, touched it with both hands, touched the laptop, and then went past his naked host to pick up a salt shaker from the shelf. "'s that."

Negan took it and put it back. "Rude behavior. Do you always enter people's property like that? It's a wonder you haven't been shot by now."

The young man didn't seem interested in the question, but was fascinated by the black skull-tattoo he discovered on a bare chest. "'s that?" He touched it with four fingertips, glancing up.

Negan cocked a brow. "My fucking nipple." He lifted the hand off his skin and went to the bedroom to dress. "Don't touch anything!"

The man followed him, picking up an insect-bite-relief-stick from the nightstand. "'s that." 

"Would you wait the fuck outside until I'm dressed?"

"Nah." He shook it twice, pulled the cap off, licked it and then got distracted when a big white towel fell to the ground, exposing a generously sized penis. He froze, staring openly.

"I just asked you not to stare at my fuckin' dick." Negan put his briefs on, letting the waistband snap against his flat belly. "It's rude."

The young man glanced up at Negan's face and back down again at the now covered genitals, staring for another seven seconds before he busied himself with the mosquito stick... and finally decided to keep it forever, leaving the bedroom and little log cabin without a comment to vanish in the forest.

Negan pulled a fresh shirt over his head, squinted as he realized that he was suddenly alone again, glanced back over his shoulder in search for his life saving bite relief medication... and then groaned in frustration, his head dropping back, "What an asshole..." when it dawned on him that he would probably die of itchy skin before fucking Otis would come to bring him back to civilization. 


	19. Oct 18th

The sun had barely started to climb over the mountain range and most of the wildlife around Lake Clark was still in a peaceful slumber on October the 18th, when the tall metropolitan currently living in J. Alfred Tucker's little log cabin by the south shore opened half an eye on his saggy rental bed. "What the motherfuckin'-" There was noise coming from the kitchen. Something clattered, something dropped. Then it was quiet again and pictures of raccoons and a whole rat dynasty crawling through his cupboards popped into Negan's head.

...before he saw a person in dusty Quicksilver bathing shorts and stained sweater walking by the bedroom door, to vanish in the bathroom. "Of course." He groaned, digging his head into the pillow before he heaved himself off the mattress, rubbing his tired face on the way to catch the little intruder. He found him squatting on the floor, rummaging through his bag of toiletries. "It's half past fucking five in the god damn fucking Sunday morning." His rough, rather sleep-deprived voice didn't seem to bother the young man on the floor. "It means-" Negan shoved the open bag aside with his bare foot. "It's too fuckin' early to steal my shit. Go back to your lil' burrow in the woods and sleep."

The man didn't answer, just got up and went back to the kitchen, finding an open bag of dried pasta. He bit into one, grimaced, bit into it again and then grunted in protest when the bag was snatched out of his hand and put back on the shelf. "Stop touching my stuff!" Negan gave his guest a stern look before he turned around and went outside to switch the gas generator on. He really needed a very strong, very black coffee. And a lock on the door.

\----

It turned out that it was a cooler day, overcast and kind of gloomy. Around six in the morning, it started to rain for the first time and Negan glanced out of the window as he carried a plate of scrambled eggs towards the table. "Shit weather." He took a seat and started eating, closely watched by the young man next to him who sat a bit awkwardly on his chair, as if it was the first time ever he used such a kind of furniture.

"What." Negan shoved a bit of his rehydrated-scrambled eggs on a slice of cheap wheat bread and took a bite. "Did nobody ever tell you that it's fucking rude to stare at a guy who's eating?"

His companion didn't answer but watched totally fascinated as a piece of bread was chewed and swallowed, then reached out a finger to touch the remaining yellow-ish food on the plate. "'s egg." 

"I wouldn't go that far..." Negan took another bite before he put a fork in front of his guest and pushed the plate across the table. "Here. I can't eat that shit."

The man didn't accept right away. He stared at the offered food for a while, squished some of it beneath his fingertip to feel the texture, quietly said the word 'egg' three times and then glanced up through tousled bangs, sending a happy little smile at his host.

Negan surely didn't smirk back, even if his lips started an attempt to do so. "Eat." Instead, he pushed the chair back and got up, hoping to find something else to eat for breakfast.

\----

Even two hours later it hadn't stopped raining and for some odd reason, the little forest hermit obviously wasn't in any hurry to leave. He had eaten the entire serving of re-hydrated eggs with two slices of bread, had spat out a mouthful of black coffee, watched Negan wash the dishes, busied himself with emptying a whole bag of pinto beans before putting each one back into its packaging, quietly counting, and now sat by the window and just stared outside, the tip of his freckled nose pressed against the fogged-up pane.

Negan worked at the computer but couldn' really concentrate. It pissed him off that this guy had no intention to go back to wherever he came from. And it pissed him off even more that a part of him enjoyed the strange company. There was no denying that his recluse buddy was the rudest fucker on earth, but at the same time showed such a genuine modesty and childlike nature that made it really hard to bear any grudges. "Ksst." Negan leaned back in his chair, his wrist propped against the edge of the laptop. The man at the window didn't turn around but soundlessly talked to himself, seeming to be totally absorbed by whatever he saw outside or thought about. So Negan raised his voice a bit. "Sst. Hey." And this time he got attention. A slightly dirty face looked at him, again showing a happy little smile. Negan was able to keep his own lips under control. "Are you planning to stay here all day? No lunch date with other pickpocketers? No rock throwing competition you have to attend?" He got no answer but the man left his place by the window and vanished into the bedroom.

Negan frowned, waited a moment, and after three minutes followed... just to find a stranger from the woods of Alaska kneeling on the bed, rubbing his face against the pillow.

"Hey!" Negan grabbed it and held it out of reach. "I have to sleep on that thing!"

His cabin guest pulled it back, grunting defiantly as he clutched it to his chest and then moved back and climbed off the bed when a tall man tried to relieve him of his new possession. 

Negan put his hands on his hips, glaring. "Put my fucking pillow back down or I'll-" The little pebble flying in his direction missed him just by half an inch and hit the wall behind him as a young man slipped past him out of the room, went through the kitchen and left Tucker's little log cabin around noon on a rainy Sunday in October, taking a wonderfully smelling pillow with him.

Negan closed his eyes and shook his head with a sigh before his chin dropped tiredly. Maybe he should go back to bed.

\----

It was quiet that afternoon. Very quiet apart from the soothing patter of rain on the wooden roof. Negan drank a lot of tea, tried for almost an hour to get his phone to work, ate six cookies with cream filling, read through an old e-mail on his computer that made him feel kind of nostalgic, and then was strangely relieved and maybe even somewhat happy when the door opened around half past 5 in the late afternoon and a young man came in. His stained clothes as wet as his hair and face. He hadn't brought the pillow back and Negan wasn't in the mood to mention it. Instead, he moved the laptop a bit on the table to offer a better look at the screen. "Here. That's my home in Atlanta."

His guest suspiciously came closer, wiping his wet face with a too-long sleeve. He glanced at Negan, then looked at the picture on the screen. For a long time. Taking in every detail of the huge factory building.

Negan pulled the other chair out in a silent offer as he switched to the next photo. Him in casual clothing in his living room, sitting on a big black leather sofa. "That's how it looks inside."

The young man sat down on the very edge of the chair and stared at the screen with big eyes before he touched it and looked at the real person sitting right next to him, comparing him to the man in the photo. "'s Dick."

Negan furrowed his brows, something tipping up the left corner of his mouth. "Thanks a lot." He reached out to click to the next photo but his hand was pushed off and his 1800 Dollar notebook got claimed with a dismissive grunt. Obviously, his audience wasn't done admiring the last picture. Negan was okay with that and leaned back in his chair, waiting patiently. He watched the rain-wet man, the curiosity and wonder in blue eyes, the little leaf sticking to the side of his neck. "What's your name?" He nudged his arm with three fingers and then again after a while when he didn't receive an answer. "Hey." And to his surprise, he didn't have to repeat his question.

"Darl." 

It was a small reply in rough voice and he squinted, scrutinizing his guest from the side. "Daryl?"

Blue eyes glanced up from the screen, surprised and confused at the same time, as if they recognized something familiar. But then they didn't seem too sure anymore and looked back at the computer. "Darl."

"Your name is Darl?" Negan put his right foot up on the edge of the chair, an amused smirk on his lips. 

But he didn't get more information. Instead, the young man changed the subject, pointing at the screen where a brown box sat on a coffee table. "'s that."

"Just a package. Wanted to take it to the post office later." Negan waited another moment. "Wanna see more photos?" He reached out again and this time wasn't pushed off so he switched to the next picture. "That's my newest car. I got it in April." The instant smile spreading all over slightly freckled features relaxed something inside his chest. "Fuckin' cool, ha."

The young man moved closer to the screen, almost touching it with his nose as he mouthed the word 'car' a few times. And then, just like that, turned around. "Mine's blue." His voice was as joyful as the expression in his eyes.

Negan frowned, smirking faintly. "Your car is blue?"

"Hm."

The pride on the little hermit's face was kind of precious to witness. "Hm." Negan gave a nod, even though he couldn't picture a car being parked somewhere around the corner between pine trees and huckleberry bushes. "Where is it?"

The young man pointed at the door with the most sincere expression. "Home."

"You have a house here somewhere?" Negan got an eager nod and another finger pointing at the door. And to some extent felt bad that this guy was naive enough to share information with a complete stranger. He nodded as well, pursing his lips... and then clicked on the next picture, waving with two fingers to the laptop screen because he felt the need to change the subject. "My store. And that's my fuckin' employee behind the counter. Take a good look. He won't be around much longer once I'm back home. Lil' asshole."

\---- 

"You know... _Darl_... I'm really flattered that you cling to my ass like a fly to a piece of shit ...." Negan looked in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, talking to the man he saw standing right behind him. "... but a little more privacy would be great."

The young man didn't seem interested in the lecture but very much in the toothbrush sticking between foamy lips. He watched closely, poked the tip of his tongue out, mumbled something about teeth and three minutes, and then froze in utter fascination as Negan spat out and rinsed his mouth. He watched as a towel was used, how the toothbrush was put back into a cup with a small clank, looked back over his shoulder when a tall man in shirt and underwear left the little cabin's bathroom, waited a minute... and then fished the toothbrush back out of the cup to claim it for himself. It was still wet and he exhaled soundly through his nose when the taste of peppermint exploded on his tongue. 

"So, when's bedtime for the forest folks?" Negan spoke a bit louder, addressing his guest still occupying his bathroom while he put a pair of PJ pants on. "I don't wanna be pushy but it's kinda late and I'm tired, so..." He used the 17 dollar hand cream sitting on the nightstand, glanced in the direction of the bathroom door when he got nothing but suspicious silence as an answer, squinted, "Hey, I'm talking to you." and then went to check on his quiet buddy. His squint turned into the expression of pure shock with a hint of disgust as he was greeted by the sight of a young man sitting on the toilet seat, sucking the remaining water off his toothbrush. "What the hell are you doing!?" His question sounded noticeably distressed in the prospect of having to survive in the wilderness without proper dental hygiene from now on. "You're spreading your fuckin' germs on my shit!" He wanted to tear the toothbrush out of weasely fingers but was blocked off and furiously grunted at instantly. "Let the fuck go, you little-" He tried again, ducking his head when a pack of floss hit him somewhere on the left shoulder, followed by a bottle of sunscreen before the man pushed past him to leave, never taking the toothbrush out of his mouth. "SO WHAT! FIRST YOU TRY TO KILL ME WITH ALL THAT FUCKIN' ROCKS YOU'RE THROWING AND NOW YOU CONTAMINATE MY PERSONAL HYGIENE PRODUCTS AND PROBABLY PROPAGATE A FUCKIN' TRILLION HILLBILLY ALASKAN DISEASES THAT I WILL CARRY BACK HOME AND CAUSE A MASSINFECTION IN MY FUCKIN' HOMETOWN?! IS THAT YOUR BRILLIANT PLAN?!" He yelled at the top of his lungs as he followed the little thief from the woods, assuming he would be out of the door and long gone by now, but then got surprised when the man just sat in the corner behind the kitchen counter, his knees pulled up to his chest, his lips and fingers wrapped tightly around his precious stolen treasure.

And obviously, he was out of items to throw because he just grunted defensively and bent his head to the left to avoid the big hand trying to wrest the toothbrush from his tight hold.

Negan glowered down, lips tight, jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with fury as he honestly considered to throttle someone. But the almost pleading look he was given kept him from doing so and even made him go back to the bedroom with a curse and angry kick against the doorframe. "Fuckin' kleptomaniac weasely recluse!"

\----

It rained through the night and Negan lay awake for a long time, staring into the dark, his head resting on a couple of folded towels in absence of his pillow. He knew the young man was still there and he wondered why. Was it because of the weather, or was he just too tired or lazy to go back to wherever he came from. Whatever it was, Negan didn't mind too much. He even considered to get up at some point and offer a blanket. But he didn't in the end, and just huffed a bitter little laugh as he turned around and closed his eyes... the very faint scrub-scrub sound of bristles on teeth and the distinct smell of peppermint filling the air.


	20. Oct 19th

Negan spent the 19th of October alone at the south shore of Lake Clark. No Otis, no bears, no pillow stealing-toothbrush abducting-forest hermits. And it irked him a bit. In the early morning already he hadn't felt exactly joyful when he had woken up to a cabin he had all to himself because his uninvited guest had vanished before sunrise. Having breakfast and lunch without company was boring and while listening to that weird hillbilly radio station could be somewhat entertaining for a few minutes, it wasn't a good replacement for an actual human being. Maybe he should go with good old Ricky next time. 3 weeks all-inclusive on the Canary islands with hordes of tourists and lots of fun entertainment, like costume contests and merengue lessons. On the other hand, his name wasn't Frances Houseman and he really hated people, as most of them were absolute assholes or dumber than a box of rocks.

Rocks.

"Hff." He puffed his cheeks out, pushing a couple of pretty pebblestones around with the tip of his boot, then picked one up, considered to keep it in case his little recluse buddy would make an appearance but then just cursed something under his breath and lunged out, throwing it as far as he could. It landed with a very distant splash in the lake and he stared for a while at the circles forming in the water where the stone had vanished before he went back inside. Maybe he should take another nap. The third for the day. 

\----

After two hours of rest to the music of the Eagles and a stack of very outdated hunting-magazines, Negan was in relatively good spirits in the early evening and even in the mood to cook. He craved meat after all these articles about deer and wild-caught rabbits, but since his generous host hadn't sent him any, he decided to make some baked beans with toasted garlic bread. It smelled fantastic and he carried both outsides to enjoy his meal sitting on the backrest of the bench in fresh air. Really fresh air, cooled down by the strong winds of fall. But that was aright, it made the hot food taste even better. And after the 6th spoon he glanced up, pleasantly surprised to see a young man in a baggy grey hoodie standing on the small wooden dock, gazing at the lake. His hair waved gently in the breeze and he wrinkled his nose as if his long bangs would tickle him.

All of it created a kind of pretty picture and Negan took his plate down, whistling through his teeth. "Hey. Daryl." He waited a moment but received no reaction at all, so he raised his voice, "Daryl!" and when that didn't work either, tried a new tactic. "Sst. Darl." This time a happy face turned to look in his direction, making him snort a chuckle and lift his plate. "Want some beans?" 

\----

The sunset on October the 19th was nothing but spectacular. In Atlanta, people would surely pay good money for a light show like that, but out here at the shores of Lake Clark it was a joy that came completely free. A bonus that the overworked businessman who currently stayed in J.Tucker's rusty log cabin didn't care much about that evening because he got distracted by the young guy sitting next to him for almost 20 minutes by now, eating beans with his fingers, one by one.

At first, his little hermit friend had made a bit of a fuss, not wanting to take a seat or come closer, until he hid a stolen, dark-blue toothbrush inside his sleeve and only then seemed to be comfortable enough to accept the dinner invitation.

Negan watched him from the side. "So, who's your barber?" He flicked one of the dirty strands with two fingers. They were almost at shoulder-length but he guessed they had been cut at some point. Probably without mirror and professional tools, but still.

"Hm." 

He got a shrug with a little grunt as three more beans were shoved between sticky lips.

"And when was the last time you washed your hair." He peeled a thin piece of grass off a grimy face. "Or any fuckin' part of your body."

"Mh." The young man lifted his shoulder to rub his cheek against and moved half an inch to the left, clearly annoyed.

Negan sighed and got up, snagging the plate out of his guest's hands to carry it inside. "Come on. Time to delouse."

\----

J. Tucker's Bush Luxury Wilderness Retreat Lodge offered a full bathroom with tub, sink, and shower but since it currently lacked running water, it really wasn't much of a help. Negan had ordered his reeking guest to kneel in the tub anyway, had offered him a washcloth and soap, a bucket of water and the spare comb he had found in his suitcase. And to his surprise, the young man didn't fight the treatment much. He even seemed to enjoy it. 

"'s that."

Negan had rolled his sleeves up and sat on the brim of the bathtub, scrubbing a very dirty upper arm. "A Fitbit. It tracks how active I am." He didn't protest when his wrist was grabbed and the black device he carried on it got examined carefully. "Head back. Time to rinse." His order got ignored, so he put a hand on the man's head to push it back and pour seven cups of water over it, washing the shampoo out. "Close your eyes." The water flowing down was not only dirty but also contained little pieces of bark and leaves, a very tiny bug and two fir needles. All in all enough to make Negan grimace and grab the shampoo bottle a second time. "You rub your head over the fuckin' ground each morning? Fuckin' shit, boy. At least carve yourself a goddman comb or something."

The man kneeling in the bathtub obviously liked the long fingers massaging more soap into his hair. "Nah." He leaned into the touch and took his stolen toothbrush up to suck some water off the bristles with a very contented sigh. 

\----

Negan felt generous in the late evening of October the 19th and willingly offered a fresh shirt and a pair of sweat pants to his squeaky-clean guest, while a pair of Quicksilver bathing trunks with questionable smell and a very stained, formerly grey hoodie were banned from the cabin to spend the night outside, soaked in an old metal bucket.

"Dick." The young man sitting on the floor in front of an expensive business notebook reached back blindly to address the person behind him. "'s that." His hair was still wet but all the knots were neatly brushed out and his face was perfectly dirt-free, allowing a look at his rather pale skin.

"Still fuckin' Rick on a bicycle." Negan didn't look up from his book. "He's my employee. And I told you my name is Negan." Keeping little forest hermits busy enough to keep them from stealing half your shit was more difficult than expected and reading an already pretty annoying book right next to them absolutely nerve-stretching.

The man on the ground sniffed his nose, staring at the displayed photo another 6 seconds and then got up to go to the bedroom.

Negan needed a moment to peel his eyes off the book page when some of the Nazgûl-blokes attacked the little hairy-foot guy. "Hey." He whistled after his guest. "Where are you going. I told you to keep your hands off my stuff!" He didn't get an answer but heard something clatter, "Of course." So he got up with a sigh, flung his book on the chair and followed the noise. "Could you fuckin' answer?" He found him in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed with a tube of toothpaste and the stolen toothbrush, using way too much of the first to cover the latter. But instead of putting it into his mouth, he held it out with a gruff demand.

"Dick."

"Negan." Negan didn't accept the toothbrush but grabbed the tube of Opalescence. "And would you maybe not eat my toothpaste like fuckin' peanut butter? It's the only thing I have left to keep my goddamn teeth from rotting out here in your natural habitat!" He was listened to and stared at for half a minute before the man got up, put the toothbrush into his own mouth and left, going back into the kitchen accompanied by the faint scrub-scrub sound that surrounded him for the past 24 hours.

Negan stayed behind, tiredly rubbing his forehead.

\----

Sleeping time felt awkward. The young hermit from the woods of Alaska didn't show the slightest inclination to leave, just quietly wandered around the cabin for a while and then sat down by the window, gnawing on the toothbrush, even after Negan turned the generator off, put his book aside and finally, at almost one in the morning, went to bed.

He didn't want to kick his strange new buddy out in the middle of the night but letting him stay felt kind of weird, too. He was really tired, though and just tried not to think of it as he turned around and closed his eyes.

\----

Thirty minutes later he was still not asleep. "Goddamn motherfuckers!" Harassed by at least one very persistent mosquito, although he suspected that it must have been two, tag-teaming up on him, because no matter in which direction he slapped, kicked, and cursed, that damn buzzing noise never left his ear. "FUCK!" He slapped his own forearm, sure he must have gotten that little asshole, but 3 seconds later the annoying buzz was back right next to his head. He sat up, angrily throwing one of his pillow-towels across the dark room as he let out a very colorful rant that included several divinities and different parts of the human body as well as its excretions. Fucking Tucker would pay for this shit big time! Who would rent out a cabin in the bug-infested wilderness without a mosquito net, 17 cans of bug spray and one of those fancy blue mosquito killer lanterns?! He cursed again, reached for the bite-relief stick he used to keep on the nightstand, moved his hand from left to right, felt nothing at all and then dropped back on the mattress with a very frustrated groan when he remembered that he had been robbed the other day. "Fuckin' weasel..." He glared into the dark, using his fingernails to scratch all the itchy spots on his body ...and then noticed a shadowy figure entering his room, bringing a very faint cloud of mint along.

There wasn't a word spoken but the bottom end of the mattress moved after a while. The young man just sat there for a couple of minutes, then he lay down, yawning.

A lecture about rude behavior, private space and the thoughtless abstraction of people's itch-relief-sticks lingered at the very tip of Negan's tongue. In the end, though, he said nothing. Instead, his stomach tumbled for half a second when the mattress shifted again and warm breath hit the bare skin of his lower leg. He could feel fingertips touching the dark hair growing there. ...before something wet followed, covering one of his itchy mosquito bites like a cooling lotion.

He squinted but chose not to question some minty fresh hermit-spit on his skin. It felt good. And the even breathing noise that filled the room three minutes later worked better than any lullaby.


	21. Oct 20th

October the 20th started with good weather, a very unhealthy pancake breakfast, and a young man from the forest joining Negan at the table. 

He grunted in a warning, trying to shield the last pancake on the plate from other hungry people.

"Fine!" Negan dropped the fork, slumping back in his chair. "I guess I'll just fuckin' starve then." A sticky hand reached out to press down on his mouth and keep him from saying anything else, while the other five fingers were used to shove a whole pancake between very thoroughly brushed teeth. Negan bit a warm palm, kind of amused by his guest's boldness. "So." He tilted his head to the side to free his mouth. "What's the plan today. Getting your hair back dirty? Stealing my shoes? Eating more raw aquatic creatures?"

His guest didn't take his eyes off the last piece of food in his hands but answered with rough voice. "Playin'."

Negan squinted perplexed, having not expected an answer, let alone the one he had been given. "You are playing today?"

"Hm."

"Really. What the fuck are you playing?" 

The young man wiped his mouth with the entire back of his forearm, still chewing with full cheeks. "The street." He pointed backward without turning around and almost seemed annoyed that Negan didn't know the obvious.

"You play on the street?" Negan turned to look at the door, squinting even harder. "What do you mean you play on a fucking street? Where is a street out here?" The possibilities of a drugstore, a life-saving phone booth or even a way out of this hell hole immediately popped into his head. Maybe he could hitch a ride.

"Ma house." The tip of a pink tongue poked out to lick sticky lips and nine out of ten fingers.

Negan furrowed his brows as he stared at his breakfast companion for a speechless minute, then moved his chair back abruptly, "Yeah, enough pancakes for you." and grabbed the young man by the arm, pulling him to his feet. "Get the fuck moving." He went to get his shoes and backpack, muttering in absolute disbelief. "A fuckin' house by the street he has. God damn fuckin' lil' weasel."

\---- 

The wilderness of Alaska seemed bigger, wider and far more pristine on October the 20th than it had ever before when after almost two hours of wandering pointlessly around on nonexistent paths still no road, house or any other form of human civilization was in sight.

"Are you god damn fucking kidding me?" Negan was out of breath after climbing up the rocky steeps to hell, wondering why his weasely buddy was so much faster and light-footed. "I'll eat my own fuckin arse if we find a road up here!" 

The young man in baggy shirt and much too long sweat pants just answered with a grunt and then threw a little pebble stone in his companion's direction when he didn't follow fast enough for his liking. "Come Dick."

"Asshole!" Negan threw one back, missed his target by three-foot-nine and then cursed and muttered for the next 15 minutes as he climbed up another rocky path to follow his rude forest friend.

\----

Around eleven in the late morning he stopped, hands on his hips, shirt sweaty, trying to catch his breath while he looked around, seeing a lot of trees, huge rocks and a cute little sparrow but no sign of his mountain guide. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist, looked to the left, "What the-" to the right, "Where the fuck is that little-" and then back over his shoulder when he heard something rustling behind a majestic Fraser fir. He squinted, went three steps closer, ducked, moved a branch aside... and finally found what he was looking for. 

A young man sat on the ground in front of a shallow, cave-like opening in the bluff, fumbling with a twig. 

"What are you doing here?" Negan spread his arms, looking around. "Taking a dump?" He received no answer and then squinted when his hiking buddy disappeared inside the little rock-shelter. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?" He got no reply, "HEY!" waited a minute in silence and finally bent down to peer into the opening. It was just a hole between mossy rocks, not nearly high enough to get in walking upright. So he ducked, trying not to bump his head, and had to take a long, hard look until he could detect anything in the half-dark. 

The cavern was surprisingly spacious inside with lots of stuff and trinkets, all neatly lined up along the left side while a cozy nest of branches and leaves was on the right. A young man in baggy sleepwear sat in its middle, gnawing on a raw mushroom. 

"What the hell is this?" Negan felt more than uncomfortable, standing all crooked in this hole, slowly realizing what it was used for. "You live here?"

"Hm." The mushroom was gone and the young man crawled out of his twig-bed to rummage through the stuff he kept on the left cavern side. He picked a rusty can and lifted it to his mouth, drinking. 

"This is your house?"

"Hm." He put the can down and crawled back out, leaving his guest alone in the half-dark.

Negan didn't know what to say. Or think. Or do. He shook his head, giving the nest-like bed a long look, found his abducted pillow in it, nudged one of the branches with his foot and then squatted down, inspecting all the clutter occupying the left side of the cavern. It was mostly garbage. Pieces of glass bottles, old food containers, a single shoe for women, a crinkled page out of a catalog, a cheap earring with a peacesign, a pair of broken reading glasses, a chewing gum wrapper. A pencil. A pair of Hugo Boss underwear. A bite relief stick. An elastic cord pulled out of a formerly brand new backpack. "Sshit." He picked it up, cursing quietly and flicked it back to the other stuff. How anyone could live in here, sleep, eat, and not go insane was absolutely beyond him. 

He raked a hand through his sweaty hair and made his way back outside, finding his little hermit buddy right next to the cave's entrance. He rubbed the dust out of his trouser legs, straightened to full height and let his chin drop with a sigh. "So, that's really it?" He put a hand on his hip, shaking his head once as he gestured to the bleak hole in the crag. "That's your home?"

The young man sitting on the ground peered up at him, nodding with a friendly expression.

Negan smoothed his hair back, having to turn away for a moment to collect himself. And when he turned back around sounded almost angry. "You lost your job or something? Since when are you homeless?" This time he got no answer at all. His companion was busy drawing lines in the dusty ground with a little twig and then pulled a small, very old toy car out of his too-long sleeve along with a stolen toothbrush. He stuck the head of the toothbrush into his mouth and placed the car between the long lines he had drawn, moving it back and forth.

Negan squinted. "Could you concentrate for a fuckin' second? I am talking to you!" But it was as if he wasn't even there, his words and presence completely ignored. "Hey." He stubbed the tip of his boot through the drawing in the dirt, smudging a part of the lines and got a shocked look for it. He was grunted at. His foot was angrily shoved out of the way. And then he realized what it actually was. "Is that your fuckin' street?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, snorting a laugh. "Oh my God. How old are you for fuck's sake? Five?" 

The man on the ground didn't say anything, but the words spoken clearly affected him. He looked crushed and stared down at his hand for a silent minute before he turned his back to his pretend-street and little blue toy car. To his angry guest.

"Great!" Negan did the same, shaking his head as he walked in the other direction. "Just great." He was disappointed. Frustrated. Absolutely confused. And even though the wilderness of Alaska was a pretty quiet place in general, right now it was filled with a very uncomfortable silence that poked his guts, knowing he had caused it.

He kicked a tree, not very hard, more nudging the bark than anything else... muttered a curse that was directed at himself and finally went back. Just to find the exact same scenario he had left. His little forest buddy still sat there, completely still, presenting only his backside to the world. And Negan considered to say something, maybe apologize, but the thought disappeared as he took a look around, really noticing his surroundings for the first time. The mountainous area was overgrown with bushes, ferns, and moss, effectively hiding the little shelter between the rocks and the area in its front where somebody had built some kind of weird adventure playground. Or maybe a summer camp for 1st-graders. There were several very basic wooden structures to climb and sit on. A thin plastic rope hanging from a tree. A part of a fishing net between two trunks. An old rubber tire to crawl through. And along the rocky walls on the left side of the cavern were pictures and words drawn, partly hidden beneath plants. A very well-used plastic sand shovel that was obviously self-made out of an old ketchup bottle lay on the ground and Negan shoved it aside with his foot, walking up to the rock drawings. "Did you make these?" He wiped some twiners aside, looking at the drawing of a dog and another one of a car. The matching words 'DOG' and 'CAR' were written underneath and further down, almost on ground level were more words scribbled in crooked capital letters. CAKE. HOUSE. BIRD. SUN. BALL. CLOCK. YELLOW. It looked like the homework of a 6-year-old. "When did you come here?" He glanced back over his shoulder but got no reaction. He took a deep breath and joined his silent companion on the ground, eyeing the little toy car laying abandoned in the dirt. He picked it up. It was made of metal, the windows hopelessly scratched up, the tires loose and dangly. The blue paint had come off in several spots and along the entire left side, somebody had incised the name **DAR L DIXON** into the varnish with a small 7 behind. "Daryl." Negan flicked a small pebble at the young man's back. "For how long have you been here in the woods." Nothing happened and he took another stone, wanted to throw it but then just flicked it to the side, muttering. "Well, obviously long enough to forget what a fuckin' road looks like." He wiped his hand through the street lines in the dust to destroy them completely and got up, vanishing between the trees.

...for almost 14 minutes. And when he returned, dropped an arm full of material on the ground. Flat stones, pieces of wood and bark, thin sticks and a highly weathered very rusty piece of thin metal. 

The young man to his left still sat unmovingly, back turned to whatever happened behind him. But every now and then he cast a small glance over his shoulder, slightly interested in the construction work suddenly going on and his tall, angry guest who started to build the most awesome racing track with curves, tunnels, bridges and even a launching ramp. He sniffed his nose when the little blue toy car sped down the new road for the first time but didn't dare to turn around.

Negan held the car up, "Sst." then tapped the man's back with it. "It's a street for grown-ups. Try it." The hurt look he received after six seconds made him somewhat feel guilty but he stuffed the unpleasant feeling deep down his chest where it was transformed into a slight sense of grumpiness he was more comfortable with. "Chop, chop, or I'll fuckin' play alone with it." 

\----

In the afternoon of October the 20th, a very isolated mountainous area of the Alaskan backlands, miles from anywhere, wasn't as quiet and placid as it used to be, but filled with laughter and loud voices. Coming from the two men sitting in the dirt in front of a small rock shelter where they battled each other in a car race. Behind the **D.D.** written with a stick into the dust were seven short lines, while behind the **N.H.** were just five. But the defeated party didn't seem to mind much, he was too busy enjoying that new side of his companion. The enthusiasm and jauntiness he got to see for the first time, topped off with the happiest laughter he had ever heard. A bit throaty but so heartfelt and sincere, it made his eyes shine with a little smile of his own and infused the tone of his voice. "Yeah, I'm fuckin' old but not blind, boy. Cheat again and I'll bite you. My turn." Negan held his hand out, waving two fingers to demand the vintage 1980 matchbox car and received it with a rough little chuckle. "Lil' weasel." He placed the car at the very top of the ramp, released it and sighed when it again just reached the third mark, causing his happy hermit friend to snort a laugh. "You know, where I come from it's rude to make fun of your elders." He gave the car back and cast a brief glance up at the overcast sky. "Weather doesn't look so good. Maybe we should call it a day." The happy expression in blue eyes dimmed down noticeably but otherwise, he got no reaction. "Hey." He snapped his fingers in front of the other man's face. "Wanna sleep at my house?" Just the thought of somebody spending the night in that cold hole in the fucking mountain made his skin crawl and stomach tight.

The young man didn't look up, just moved the car up and down the racing track as if he hadn't heard the question. But after almost a full minute shrugged his shoulders, "Hm." and got up, storing a stolen toothbrush and a tiny toy car in his much too long sleeve, wandering off to make his way down the hill.

"Ookay..." Negan rose to his feet as well, shouldering his backpack as he followed his alpine guide back to shores of Lake Clark. "Won't I get at least my fuckin' bite relief stick back? It's the least you can do after I built you that awesome street."

"Nah."

"My god damn fucking pillow?"

"Nah."

He sighed, hooking his thumbs into the straps of his bag. "'Course not."

\---- 

It had been a quiet evening in J. Tucker's Bush Luxury Wilderness Retreat Lodge. A quick wash with cold lake water, a big serving of fried instant noodles with onions and carrots, and a cup of hot tea to a chapter of a ridiculously boring book. Negan had looked up from page 301 when his guest had suddenly abandoned the laptop and all the photos on it at 11.45 PM and vanished in the bedroom. But there was no clatter, nothing dropped or fell over... and when he followed after thirty minutes, he found a well-used matchbox car on the nightstand and a young man peacefully sleeping in his bed, a toothbrush in hand, tousled hair a chaotic mess on a towel-covered saggy mattress. He looked kinda small and vulnerable like that and surprisingly enough, Negan didn't feel annoyed at all as he squeezed his long body somewhere on the unoccupied side of the bed and even willingly shared the blanket because it was pretty chill.

It took him a while to fall asleep, though, wondering whether it could really be possible for a child to survive alone in the wilderness.


	22. Oct 21st

The roaring sound of an old motorboat cutting through the turquoise waters of Lake Clark disturbed the peaceful morning on October the 21st and made the tired metropolitan residing in J.Tucker's log cabin groan in annoyance as he lifted his head off the saggy mattress. "What the bleeding fuck." At first, he thought it was Fat Joey with the high-pressure cleaner. Then he remembered where he was and figured it would be the little weasely forest hermit playing with the gas generator again. But on a second glance, he found the young man sleeping peacefully behind him on the bed so he squinted and lifted his long legs off the mattress, a sliver of hope dancing through his sleepy mind that maybe it could be that sack of shit Otis, finally taking him back to civilization.

And indeed, as he pushed the cabin door open he got greeted by the sight of a real boat next to the little wooden pier and a corpulent man tying one to the other before he waved an arm, smiling brightly.

"Good morning! Jimmy said you need a boat ride!" Obviously, he wasn't aware that he had entered enemy turf and blithely approached his waiting passenger, ready to collect any potential luggage.

The tall man waiting by the cabin plastered a fake smile on his face. "Welcome! How's your rheumatism? Feeling good today?"

"Ah, ya know..." Otis scratched his belly. "Last week was tough but cousin Hatty made a watercress balm and she-"

"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I GODDAMNMOTHERFUCKIN' CARE!" Negan was proud that he had been able to contain his little outburst for almost 60 seconds and the frightened expression on Otis' sweaty features was a really satisfying reward. "I ASKED FOR A FUCKING BOAT THREE WEEKS AGO! YOU AND THAT LITTLE ASSHOLE TUCKER LEFT ME OUT HERE IN THIS SHITHOLE WITHOUT ELECTRICITY AND WATER! MY PHONE ISN'T WORKING! I COULD BE FUCKING DEAD BY NOW!"

Otis felt a bit under pressure and also highly uncomfortable with such an amount of aggression right into his face, but his plan to resort to excuses and then seek refuge in Canada got thwarted by the young man stepping out of the cabin. 

His hair tousled, a blue toothbrush tucked in the corner of his mouth. "'s that."

Negan kept his death stare firmly in place. "An asshole."

"Ya know," Otis grimaced apologetically. "If ya keep a guest overnight, Jimmy will have to charge you an extra fee."

"Oh really?!" Negan arched his brows, bending backwards a couple of inches in mock surprise. "Why doesn't he fuckin' come here and we talk it over while I SHIT IN MY GODDAMNFUCKIN' BUCKET 'CAUSE THE TOILET ISN'T WORKING?!" 

"I mean..." Otis shrugged, starting to see the problem. "Maybe he'll make you a special deal or somethin'."

"Yeah." Negan flared his nostrils in pure contempt. "Maybe. Go park your lazy ass on that bench right here while I pack my shit." 

\----

There wasn't much to pack. Some clothes, towels, toiletries, a questionably smelling leather jacket, a super boring book, and a pack of no-name beef jerky because for some odd reason it was surprisingly easy to get addicted to that crap. But no matter how many things Negan threw into his bags, a curious man from the woods of Alaska fished every single item back out again.

"'s that."

"Shaving cream. Put it back." Negan flicked a pair of socks into his open suitcase, followed by a neatly folded red scarf.

"'s that."

"Hair gel. Don't open it." He couldn't find the pouch for his dirty shoes and feared the worst. "Did you take the yellow bag I kept here on the shelf."

"Hm." The young man didn't look up, busy to examine the purple plastic lighter he had found.

"Really. What the fuck do you need it for?"

He sniffed it, shook it twice and then bit into the silver part. "'shrooms."

"You stole my bag to carry fuckin' mushrooms?" Negan cocked a brow, kind of surprised by the answer.

"Hm." His guest shook the lighter once more, frustrated that the liquid he saw didn't come out. "'s that?" He held it up for Negan to see.

"A lighter." Negan took it and moved his thumb over the spark wheel, pressing the little button down to create a flame and pure astonishment in big blue eyes. It made him smile and he slid the lighter into the pocket of his pants. "I'm going back home now."

"Hm." The young man nodded once, a sense of happiness spreading over his face. "Playin' street." 

Negan sucked his lips in, shaking his head. "No. Not your home. I go back to Atlanta. I was just here on vacation." He studied the face in front of him, knowing for sure that his message wasn't understood. Instead he was quietly chuckled at and two fingers reached out to touch his lips.

"Dick."

"Yeah." He decided to smile back because he wasn't a fan of unnecessary drama. "Hope you remember it well, boy. It's the best you'll ever see." He wiggled his brows and nipped the fingers touching him. "Now help carry my luggage outside before it starts fuckin' raining again and that fucker Otis runs off for a 10-day bedrest." 

\----

Saying goodbye to the hellhole that was the Bush Luxury Wilderness Retreat Lodge was harder than expected. Somehow that lousy shack had grown on him. Just like the lake and pretty cool nature surrounding it. Maybe even the little hermit who lived here and curiously followed him to inspect the motorboat tied to the dock.

"'s that." 

Negan handed Otis the last bag and then turned around with a sigh. "You've never seen a boat? It takes me to the next town and from there I will travel back home." He got no reaction other than insecure blue eyes blinking up at him. And all of sudden he felt pretty crappy. "Listen... should I send somebody to get you? Take you to town? Help you get a job?"

The young man flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"No?" Negan smiled to some extent but didn't feel like it at all. "Wanna throw a farewell rock at me? Give my toothbrush back?"

"Nah." 

"Mh." He nodded, then got the purple lighter out of his pants, handing it over. "Here. But don't burn the fuckin' forest down." He pinched the man's chin, "Take care, Daryl Dixon." pinched his cheek and then turned around to board the ancient stinkpot his host had sent him, giving the sign for Otis to start.

He tried to focus on the spectacular mountain range, the beautiful fall colors of the huge forest surrounding the lake, the north shore with the berry bushes, the turquoise water. But in the end, he couldn't help but stare at the man standing a little lost on the wooden pier, covering his ears with both hands to block out the horribly loud noise the motorboat made. He looked younger than he probably was. Confused and upset somehow. He looked like a good reason to stay a little while longer.

"Turn around."

"What?" Otis held a hand to his ear, not sure what his grumpy passenger tried to communicate.

"Turn the fuck around!"

"Turn around ya say?"

"Yeah. Chop chop." Negan gestured to the south shore, already annoyed by his decision and the alluring prospect of TV, a minibar at the hotel and a functioning internet connection running like dirt through his fingers. To hell with his fucking big, fluffy heart.

\----

It rained in the evening of October the 21st. It was windy. It was cold. But the tourist living in Jim Tucker's little vacation home at the south shore of Lake Clark was in a pretty decent mood anyway. Because the tables had turned, cash was fucking king, and a goddamn golden key could open any door. 

... or at least make a humble boats-guy from a small town in Alaska do pretty much fucking anything. 

As it had turned out, 200 Dollar were enough to bribe Otis into running some errands in Port Alsworth for the rich metropolitan from Atlanta. He bought a shit ton of real food, half of the local drugstore, and some new bedding in the highest quality available. Sheets, pillows, and a luxuriously thick duvet with matching covers, and he delivered it all before sunset. For 50 Dollar more he had also been willing to fix the water problem in the cabin's bathroom and for 85 Dollar a 3-year-old mobile phone changed hands and connected Negan with the civilized world.

All combined made the outlook for the remaining nine days of vacation pretty good.

"Hey." Negan took his feet off the table and put his cup of tea down. "That's my fucking brand new toothbrush. You don't need two. Keep your hands off."

Daryl studied the white-red toothbrush a moment longer through the packaging and after a minute brought it to its rightful owner, holding it towards the man's mouth.

"I brush my teeth later. In the bathroom." Negan took it and chucked it on the table next to his tea. "Sit down. I wanna talk." 

His guest did as he was told and took a seat on the free chair, flicking his head to get some hair out of his face.

"Why do you live here in the mountains."

Daryl showed a little shrug, then pulled a blue toothbrush out of his sleeve and started to move it along his bottom teeth.

"I asked you a question." Negan grabbed it, not impressed by the protesting grunt he received. "Where did you live before? Were you born out here?"

"Mh." The young man shook his head, seeming a bit uneasy.

"No? Where's your family?"

Daryl shifted on the chair. "Home."

"Do they live in a city? In a real house?" Negan got a nod, noticing the sudden sadness in blue eyes. "Yeah? How come you're here on your own then?" This time he got no answer, although he was sure that his question had been understood just fine. "Ksst." He nudged a bare foot with his own. "What happened. They kicked you out?"

Daryl lowered his head, then shook it once.

Negan waited. Just sat there in silence and after a while nudged the man's foot again. "Tell. Why are you living here and not in the city." 

"Can't find it."

The reply he got was quiet, mumbled in hoarse voice and he squinted, leaning a few inches forward, not sure if he had heard correctly. "What do you mean? You can't find the city?"

"Hm."

Negan took his guest's chin and tipped it up, creating eye contact. "You live here in the fucking forest because you can't find the city?"

Daryl furrowed his brows, grunting as he tried to escape the firm grip. He got released after a moment and immediately took his toothbrush and left. To the bedroom.

Negan let him, leaning back in his chair. He rubbed his forehead, thinking. The information he had just received and the things he had witnessed in the mountains the other day started to paint a bigger picture but then again didn't make sense at all. He exhaled soundly, shaking his head. Then took his newly bartered phone and dialed a number in Georgia. "Yeah, hi. It's me. Good. Listen, big guy... need your researching skills. I wanna know if there's a case of a missing person in Alaska. Name's Daryl Dixon. Yeah. Thanks. Let me know if you find anything." He hung up, flinging the phone onto the table... and after five more minutes of pondering, got up and put the light out.

He changed into his sleepwear, brushed his teeth, flossed, took a piss and enjoyed the luxury of flushing the toilet, killed a very big spider crossing his way to the bedroom... and found a young man in the middle of his new down duvet, quietly snoring with parted lips, a toothbrush sticking between them.

The left corner of Negan's mouth lifted and he had to admit as he removed the toothbrush that his little weasely forest buddy was a pretty one under all this unkempt hair and grime. "Psst." He tickled the man's shoulder, making his eyelids flutter open. "Move over." It took a bit of shifting and shuffling until both of them had found their place and Negan could hear a contented sigh once his guest had settled on the right side of the bed and was covered by a heavy, warm down blanket. The brief image of a weird nest of twigs and leaves inside a cold rock shelter flickered through his tired mind and he reached a hand out in the darkness, brushing four fingers through longish hair, kind of glad that he wasn't in a comfy hotelroom. 


	23. Oct 22nd

The tourist residing at the south shore of Lake Clark got not only spoiled by splendid weather in the morning of October the 22nd, but he also pampered himself with a five-star breakfast that he truly deserved after weeks of consuming cheap wheat bread and discount coffee to start his days.  
  
"Ma sammich."  
  
He cocked a brow at the young man to his left who almost crawled over his arm to have a better look at his avocado-smoked salmon-dill-Ezekiel bread-toast. "Would you the fuck mind? Eat your eggs."  
  
The tip of Daryl's tongue poked out as he watched closely how a big bite of bread vanished between Negan's lips. He smacked his own, then leaned even closer to lick the remaining food held by long fingers.  
  
"Are you goddamnfucking kidding me?" Negan dropped it on the plate, "God!" looking disgustedly at his saliva-wet thumb and forefinger.  
  
And for just a second, his rude breakfast buddy seemed to feel a little bit guilty, crinkling his nose with a sheepish glance up.  
  
Negan cursed, grabbed a napkin and then shoved his plate to the left, "Here." before he angrily moved his chair back and got up. "Never heard anything of fucking private space! Fucking forest people!"  
  
\----  
  
In the early afternoon, the autumn sun was warm enough to hang up some freshly hand-washed hermit-gear to dry and do a bit of tanning. Negan only wore a pair of black underwear to his sunglasses and almost fell asleep, listening to the gentle splash of water against the wooden dock he was relaxing on. One arm behind his head, the other resting on his bare stomach, his left foot dangling in the water. He really wasn't a fan of global warming but right now he didn't mind his little bonus-summer weather on a day in late October.  
  
"'s that."  
  
A finger tapped on his 95,- dollar Ray-Ban's. "My shades." Negan opened his eyes when cool water droplets fell on his warmed-up skin. 

Daryl had been swimming, butt naked, while all of his borrowed clothes dried on the clothesline in front of the cabin. 

"They protect my eyes from the sun." Negan took the glasses off and handed them over for the young man to try. "Are you done swimming already?"  
  
Daryl had difficulties to place the sidepieces of the sunglasses correctly on his ears and then didn't seem too sure about the new gadget, crinkling his nose as he looked up at the brightly shining sun. "Nah."  
  
Negan wished he had brought his new phone to take a picture as he watched the other man crouching stark naked and dripping wet on the wooden planks, blinking through a pair of Ray-Ban's. He looked good. "You look good."  
  
"Hm." Daryl fanned out his fingers, looking at them in fascination through the tinted lenses. He smiled, then held them over Negan's face.  
  
"Yeah, that's not how it works." Negan shoved them aside, irritated to have a nude man so close after almost a month of abstinence. He sat up with a groan, claimed his glasses back, put them on the pier and lowered himself into the water. It was colder than it looked, but he dipped under the surface anyway to wet his hair and then started to swim a crawl through the shimmering water. For two and a half minutes before he heard a splash and a smiling face emerged by his side. "If you catch a fuckin' fish I'll feed you to the Kraken." He earned a chuckle and then wasn't quite sure how his little forest buddy could be so much faster than a certified swim coach. "Little fucker."  
  
\----  
  
Tucker's little log cabin was bathed into the comforting light of two oil lanterns and still smelled like a nutritious home-cooked dinner at ten in the evening, when a tall man in cozy loungewear read a very boring fantasy novel in his armchair, feet up on the rustic coffee table, a cup of tea in hand... while the 34th orange Reeses peanut butter cup-wrapper was dropped on the floor, making it look like a weird Halloween parade had marched through the cabin's living space.  
  
"You know," Negan didn't take his book down when he heard a hand rustling its way into a candy jumbo pack for the 35th time. "You won't fit into your little burrow anymore if you keep on stuffing your face with that crap."   
  
Daryl grunted and turned his back to the other man as he devoured another chocolate.  
  
Negan groaned, flipping the page. "Hope you have a good health insurance that pays for all that insulin you gonna need." He didn't get an answer but two more orange candy wrappers landed on the floor before suddenly a chocolate smeared face looked at him from closest distance and dirty fingers pressed a half-melted round piece of candy to his mouth. He opened automatically and grimaced just out of habit even though it tasted pretty good. "Thanks." He found it quite amusing how closely he was watched until he had swallowed. "Will you now clean up all that mess you made?"  
  
Blue eyes studied every move of his lips and then wandered up with a smile.  
  
Negan did his best to keep his expression serious but the tone of his voice betrayed him. "You look like a pig. Go wash your face."   
  
"A pig."  
  
"Yes. A fucking big one." He patted a chocolate smeared cheek, groaned in annoyance when his fingertips got dirty and then got up from his cozy reading chair to lead the way to the bathroom. "Chop, chop. Don't forget your toothbrush."  
  
\----  
  
22 minutes later he had washed, brushed his teeth, flossed and enjoyed a very manly moisturizer but was still alone in the cabin's little bathroom. He muttered a curse, and rubbed a 21 dollar hand cream into his fingers on the way back to the living room, finding a young man curled up in his reading chair, sound asleep, a toothbrush tucked between chocolate-sticky lips. "Of course." He shook his head, picked up his book to put it on the table... and "What the-" stared at the rustic wooden tabletop that was now decorated with the blue ballpen-drawing of a farm animal. It looked like a kid had drawn it. Two circles, one with face and ears, one with a corkscrew tail and four lines as legs underneath. The word 'PIG' was scribbled next to it and just when he was about to release a rant and throw the fucking ballpen against the sleeping man's head, he found another masterpiece that he hadn't noticed before. It was carved into the tabletop with something sharp or pointy, probably a fork. Four letters, in the same spot his guest's plate had been located earlier for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  
  
**DICK**  
  
He rubbed it with his fingertip, shook his head once more and then used the ballpen to add a word in elegant handwriting.  
  
_**Dar y l** _   
  
He drew a smiling face behind both, put out the oil lantern by the window and went into his bedroom. 

...just to leave it again a minute later to cover a little hermit from the woods of Alaska with his luxurious 100% Egyptian cotton extra-large sauna towel because no matter how warm it got during daytime at the shores of Lake Clark, by night it could be pretty chilly.  
  



	24. Oct 23rd

October the 23rd started with a late oatmeal-fresh apple-coffee arabica-breakfast, the argument over property rights for a pack of dental floss, and a grumpy forest hermit ending the fight by abducting the object in question to the shores of Lake Clark where he sat down on a little wooden dock to unwind a meter of the thin cord just for scientific reasons.

Negan glared at his own reflection in the mirror after brushing his teeth three times and still having the distinct feeling that something was caught between his teeth. "Lil' asshole." It was probably a tiny piece of apple peel and he sucked his teeth noisily in an attempt to extricate the annoyance on the way out to the living room when his phone rang. It was Eugene, one of his employees in Atlanta, muttering information through the slightly rustling line in his usual flat, very excessive verbosity. A date of birth, a very old address in Petersville that wasn't valid anymore, and an Elementary school that once had a boy named Daryl Dixon listed, but only for the first grade. Negan listened in silence for a while, by the front window, staring outside. The young man by the pier had managed to thread a piece of floss through his teeth and tried his best to pull it back and forth. And instead of being angry or annoyed, Negan couldn't help but feel a weird sense of pride. "So he was never officially reported missing."

_'That is correct. The family's background and problematic domestic environment taken into consideration, it can be assumed that the second son's sudden discontinuation wasn't perceived a tragedy.'_

Negan huffed a soundless laugh. "One less mouth to feed." He scratched his bearded chin, turning his back to the window. "Any relatives?"

_'Mother, Catherine Dixon deceased 1990 in Petersville, father, William Dixon deceased last year in Anchorage, brother, Merle Dixon registered at the Fairbanks correctional center since February the 2nd.'_

"Hm." Negan sat down on the edge of the table, shoulders hunched. "Thanks."

_'Would it be a correct assumption that the subject of investigation is still alive?'_

He stroked a finger along his left eyebrow, "Let's talk about it when I'm back." and hung up but stared at the black phone display for another three minutes before he pushed off the table and left his little rental cabin. Maybe he would find some firewood to chop.

\----

Long after sunset and an extensive dinner with beef and green vegetables, Negan leaned in the bathroom's doorframe, watching his guest marveling at the wonders of a working faucet. Sitting in the full bathtub, hair freshly washed and already rinsed, toothbrush firmly tucked between his lips. 

"Are you done now?"

"Nah." Daryl stuck a finger into the tap, watching the changes in the water's flow.

"What do you mean, nah? Don't want my fuckin' dick to shrink three sizes just because you use up all the hot water." His guest didn't turn around to look at him but chuckled after half a minute. "You think that's funny?"

Daryl took his finger off the faucet, turning around with a very faint smile that barely involved his lips but was clearly visible on the rest of his face.

Negan studied him for a while... dripping hair, bright, happy eyes, a speck of dirt on the left cheek that had been missed. He pushed off the doorframe and went closer, squatting down in front of the tub, pulling the toothbrush out between very clean teeth. "You remember Merle?" He could watch as the young man's expression changed from carefree and happy, to pure confusion, until finally recognition dawned. Unease flickered through blue eyes and a pale ear was scratched.

"Hm."

"Is he a nice guy?" This time he got no answer to his question and reached out to rub the last bit of dirt off Daryl's face. "You tried to find him?"

"Hm." Daryl sniffed his nose and lowered his gaze, fumbling with his fingers in the white foam.

"Hm. How old have you been when you left your family." Big eyes looked up instantly, sincere and full of concern, while seven fingers were held up for Negan to count. The gesture was like a punch to the gut and caused a sense of sickness that made it hard to think rationally for a moment. But he tried to. "You got lost in the woods when you were seven and nobody found you?" There wasn't a spoken answer and it wasn't necessary to hear one. Maybe it was even better that way and after 24 seconds Negan bumped his forehead against a wet shoulder. "Fuck them all. You did great on your own."

\----

At home in Atlanta Negan spent his nights with work, friends, or fucking. Going to bed early just to sleep was a new concept he still tried to get used to. He missed his TV. He missed his office. He missed going out for a drink. And God be his witness, he missed sex. A one-night-stand, some pussy, his boy's ass, even his own fucking ten fingers. It was something he hadn't taken into account when he had planned his little, forced time-out vacation. No pickup at the hotel bar, no other guests to flirt with, not even a callboy was available here in the backlands of nowhere. And he had to admit, the little weasely hermit with his fucking cute face and exceptionally well-toned Tarzan-body that he paraded shamelessly around for the whole forest to see, didn't make the situation any easier. Especially not at 10:22 PM, in a shared bed, with a pestering mosquito on the hunt for its late dinner.

"Fuck!" He heard the ominous buzz next to his ear two seconds before he felt a faint sting on his shoulder. He slapped it hard, waited 10 seconds and cursed again when the buzzing sound was still there. He considered to get up and grab the baseball bat or at least search for his new bite-relief-stick in the bathroom, but then got reminded of his sleeping-buddy on the right side of the bed when something touched the tiny bite. Wet, warm and really soft. The little spit-treatment got extended to an older bite two inches further down. And the hot tingles shooting instantly through his lower belly were followed by a pang of guilt that turned into anger a second later. "Would you keep your fucking tongue in your mouth please?!" He jerked his shoulder out of the danger zone and was irritated that the feeling of guilt was still there. He didn't like it and decided to soften his tone a bit in a proposal of peace. "You always run around licking people? It's rude." He could feel warm breath hitting his damp skin before he heard a quietly mumbled reply.

"'t helps."

"Yeah?" He huffed a laugh into the darkness at the sweetly naive reasoning. "It depends I guess." He decided to change the subject. "You have a lot of mosquitos in your little cavern in the mountains?"

"Mh."

He could feel how the man next to him shook his head. "Hm. Is it hot in the summer months?"

Daryl thought about it for a moment. "Nah."

"But probably fucking cold in winter, right."

"Hm." He turned to lie on his side, gazing at the other man's silhouette in the darkness.

"Thought so." Negan stared silently up at the ceiling for a while, one hand behind his head, the other resting on his bare chest. "What are you doing out here all day? Playing with your street? Throwing rocks at forest creatures?"

"Gettin' food."

Negan squinted. "Yeah? Like what? Mushrooms and berries?"

"Hm." Daryl affirmed and scratched his head. "'n frogs 'n snails 'n bugs."

Negan grimaced, turning his head to face his bed companion. "Frogs and bugs?" He got a nod and cursed, "Christ." looked back at the dark ceiling and after a moment of thinking the information over, turned to face his guest again. "Cooked or raw like that fucking fish you caught?" A rough little chuckle cut through the darkness and three fingertips randomly touched his cheek, then reached out to examine the watch he wore on his wrist.

"'s that." 

Negan pressed the little button at the side to activate the greenish-blue backlights, illuminating the entire dial. "My watch."

Daryl lifted his head off the pillow, in awe with the sudden light out of nowhere. He got closer, soundlessly repeating the words 'Ma watch' as he rested his chin on a bare chest.

Negan released the button and pressed it again, demonstrating the technology behind and then took his hand off in a silent offer for his guest to try. "It's called electroluminescence." At the end of the day, he didn't care what it was called or how it worked when again and again for the next 10 minutes an astonished face got illuminated for him to enjoy. When his wrist was taken and held in a possessive grip. When slightly damp hair and a warm cheek snuggled up against his chest because it got late and eyes grew heavy but the black Timex was still too interesting to let go.

He brushed five fingers through soft hair, just to wish a wordless goodnight. But then kept his hand where it was, feeling a bit like a fucking teenager when he noticed slight pressure against his palm because the man in his bed nestled into the touch.


	25. Oct 24th

On October the 24th, right after breakfast, the young man living in the wilderness of Alaska got up from the table without a comment, grabbed his toothbrush, cast a last glance at the fascinating Timex watch attached to his host's wrist and then left the little cabin by the south shore of Lake Clark and vanished behind the treeline.

Negan wasn't sure what to make of it and it kinda pissed him off that he even cared. Still, he waited on the bench in front of the house for almost an hour before he cursed something under his breath, chucked a pebble against the metal bucket and went back inside because he surely had better things to do than waiting for certain people to return and grace him with their presence. Like reading for example, or taking a bath. He even did both at the same time, then spent an hour on grooming his beard and body hair, used the new aftershave that Rick had bought him for a weird birthday gift, thought it was actually quite decent and as he just wanted to dress again, decided it would be a great time to enjoy some alone time and indulge in the magic of self-love. 

It wasn't difficult to get hard or in the right mood after weeks of sexual abstinence. Getting comfortable in a bed that smelled like a weasely hermit from the woods of Alaska helped as well. Mint, shampoo, and the subliminal scent of something pure and earthy. He groaned and closed his eyes, wrapped his hand tighter around his dick and stroked a little faster. Pictures of Daryl naked by the lake flickered through his head, a sweet tongue licking him in the darkness, that gorgeous face smiling at him. He tucked one leg up, his lips parting as he imagined a beautiful round ass and him finger-fucking it... sucking a sweet, pink hole... burying himself in it up to the hilt... having that cute guy moan and groan in pleasure. The thought made his toes curl and hips arch. But as he reached the brink of climax he desperately tried to replace the picture of his goddamn forest buddy with somebody more appropriate. Like Paul, Marc, or Sherry. Even one of his employees briefly crossed his mind... just to be pushed aside ruthlessly by innocent blue eyes and soft, uncombed hair. His chest heaved and he froze, growling his orgasm out, hot, messy and absolutely mindblowing. It took him a while to find his way back to reality and get his brain to kick into gear again. ...and maybe he would have taken even more time to float in the bliss of afterglow if he hadn't felt curious eyes on him and the very faint shifting of the mattress. He lifted his head half an inch, squinted, saw a young man in very dirty attire crouching at the bottom end of the bed and "Of course..." let his head fall back into the pillows, groaning. His fingers were still wrapped around his spent cock when somebody reached out to explore the watch on his wrist. "Would you-" He waved the rude hand away like an annoying fly and covered his eyes with his forearm for three seconds, before he cursed something incoherent and got up, grabbed a clean pair of boxers and made his way to the bathroom on jelly-legs. He closed the door, turned toward the mirror, gave his blushed reflection a very annoyed look and then leaned over the sink to splash some cold water on his face to get himself back together. Fucking weasel.

\----

His guest still crouched on the bed and was busy to examine a boring fantasy novel when Negan left the little bathroom ten minutes later, washed, dressed in a shirt and underwear, the color of his skin almost back to normal.

"'s that?"

"The author."

Daryl studied the black and white photo on the bookcover a moment longer before he lost interest and gave his attention to the slightly stained bedsheet. "'s that."

"What's that?" Negan drank a big gulp of water, put the bottle back on the nightstand, "My fuckin' jizz." and slumped onto the bed, resting against the headboard. "That's the shit you gonna find if you barge into other people's bedroom unannounced." The young man looked at him, wiping a strand of hair from his dirty face.

"Hm."

"Hm." Negan waved a hand towards the man's soiled clothes and the amount of mud he spread on formerly white sheets. "What the fuck happened? Did you take a mudbath?"

Daryl sniffed his nose, slid an inch closer and then held up a frog. It was equally muddy and very much dead.

"What the fuck is that?" Negan leaned closer, needing a moment to realize what the cat had dragged in and then "Oh my God!" immediately recoiled, poor disgust contorting his face. "Did you kill a fuckin' toad?!" 

"Hm." Daryl held his gift a little higher. 

"Take it out!" Negan ducked to the left, then waved an arm in outrage. "And wash your fuckin' hands for God's sake!"

\----

Almost an entire hour later, Negan glanced up from his book when the bathroom door opened and a freshly washed man in a baggy, white, toothpaste-stained shirt stepped out, a toothbrush in hand and not wearing any form of clothing on the lower half of his body.

"Are you done?" Negan took his book down, not commenting on the mixed cloud of every soap, lotion, cologne, and aftershave available in his bag of toiletries that obviously had been used in one way or another. "Washed all that toad slime off your fingers?" He didn't receive an answer but caught a glimpse at a bare belly, decorated with a 21 dollar moisturizer, when his guest lifted the shirt he wore. "What happened to your pants?"

Daryl looked down on himself as if he would notice just now that he was naked in the lower regions, but in the end didn't seem to care and sat down on the mattress, brushing his teeth a bit more.

"You need a fresh one?"

"Nah." He curled his lips, clenched his front teeth and moved the bristles back and forth, then lost interest and crawled over the bed, finally settling down between long legs, where he placed the wet toothbrush on Negan's thigh because he needed both hands to examine the man's Timex. "Ma watch." He pressed the small button at the side to activate the dial's backlights, smiling faintly when it worked.

"Yeah right." Negan shifted back two inches and spread his legs a bit wider to eliminate every form of physical contact. "Think again, Paco." 

Daryl didn't look up, busy with the wristwatch's buckle. "Darl."

Negan forced the corners of his mouth down, then reached out to fiddle with a strand of longish hair that seemed weirdly sticky. "Did you paste my fuckin' shaving cream in your hair, _Darl_?"

Daryl ducked his head and lifted one shoulder. "Nah."

"Mhm." Negan watched as deftly fingers managed to unbuckle the strap of his watch, but surprisingly enough not to steal it, just to immediately put it back on his wrist, slipping the end of the strap through the buckle in high concentration. He didn't interfere and didn't say anything, just relaxed into the headboard of the bed, taking the book back up with his free hand, while a gentle Alaskan rain shower drummed a steady rhythm on the cabin's wooden roof. 

It wasn't the worst way to spend a quiet afternoon.

\---- 

No matter how often Negan got up, to take a piss, get more water, grab a bite to eat, switch the generator off, or to brush his teeth... whenever he returned to sit on his saggy but delightfully pimped rental bed, his houseguest would climb back between his legs. Gnawing on a stolen toothbrush, playing with the watch, studying black tattoos on nicely tanned arms, or to demand bits and pieces from the 'I'm too lazy to cook something real-snack bowl' on the nightstand.

"You already brushed your fuckin' teeth." Negan tried to sound reproachful as he fed another cashew to his overnightguest but then popped one into his own mouth as well because, in the end, nobody fucking cared. 

Daryl watched a nut disappearing between Negan's lips and followed it with the tip of his finger, flinching and chuckling when it was bitten.

Negan nodded his chin, trying to shove the intruding hand out of his private space. "Where's the frog?"

"Ate it."

"You ate the frog? In front of my fuckin' door?!" He wanted to say something snarky to express his disgust. Demand another teeth cleaning session and special hand disinfection ritual with half a liter of skin sanitizer. But then he didn't. Because eating what nature offered, raw and unprocessed, was what had kept his brave companion alive and well. And truth be told, he could only respect that. "Hm. Was it difficult to catch?"

"Hm." Daryl nodded, wiping some hair out of his face. "Had two." 

"You caught two frogs?" The pride clearly displayed in blue eyes was kind of adorable. "What happened to the other one?"

"Lost it."

"Oh well. Next time you get him."

"Hm." The young man seemed to like the encouraging words and wiped another strand of hair from his forehead, sliding an inch closer to touch soft lips. "I bring it."

Negan allowed himself to crook them into a little smile. "You want me to eat a frog? What does it taste like?"

"Frog."

He cocked a brow. "Are you a smartass now?" The fact that his guest lifted his butt off the mattress to touch it in slight confusion caused Negan to groan and pat a warm cheek. "Okay, lights off. Time to sleep, Darl Dixon." 

\----

It was a quiet night with steady rainfall and even though the day hadn't been very eventful, Negan slept like a baby, deep and dreamless. Until 1:15 in the early morning when he rolled onto his side and his nose made contact with soft hair. He inhaled deeply and noticed something in his lower belly fluttering weirdly when two and a half minutes later a warm body snuggled against his front. A back pressed against his chest and the bare globes of a firm butt settled against his crotch. He opened his eyes, then closed them again, trying to relax when his cotton-covered cock twitched once to evince interest. It amazed him how strong and solid the young man felt. Not fragile or vulnerable at all. He heard him whisper for a while into the darkness. About a frog and a watch. Dick and Darl. He could feel him fondle his penis, a hand tucked between his legs. Before that warm body grew slack and heavy against him, and soft, even breathing sounds replaced the whispered words. He pretended not to be fully conscious when he buried his nose into slightly sticky hair and blamed it on his sleepy brain when he slid an arm over Daryl's side, feeling against his skin where the baggy shirt had moved up. His instincts told him to tighten his hold and pull his prey closer. But he fought it and was relieved when he felt himself drift back off to sleep, the soothing patter of rain in his ears and the faint scent of shaving cream in his nose. 


	26. Oct 25th

October the 25th started well before sunrise, at 3:49 in the very early morning. Negan inhaled deeply through his nose as he turned his face to the right and shifted a bit on the mattress, slowly pulled out of sleep by noise and movement that seemed familiar even to his drowsy mind but on second thought were fraught with strangeness here at his lakeside resort. Small whimpers and low grunts. A face pressed into his chest, soaking the fabric of his shirt with hot puffs of breath. Strong legs clamped around his thigh, a bare crotch rutting erratically against it, spreading a bit of wetness that seeped through the fabric of his pants on his skin. It woke up his neglected libido before his sleep-drugged brain could follow, producing a little groan that came from somewhere deep down his throat as he pushed his thigh up to create more friction for the hard penis rubbing against it. His hand went to cup the back of a head that he needed a moment to recognize and when he finally did, feeling soft, longish strands of hair between his fingers, he groaned again, a wave of roaring need gushing through his veins that made his dick twitch and every muscle in his body coil with craving. It gave him the immediate impulse to join, to give in and take over, to spread legs and rip the cotton from his body to drive himself into that gorgeous ass. But he didn't. He inhaled deeply and held his breath, his fingers cramping in silky hair as he clawed desperately to his control with every ounce of strength he possessed, forcing down the raw lust and primitive hunger crawling through him. Forcing himself to ignore the painfully hard cock inside the confines of his underwear and enjoy what happened just from a bystander point of view. Listening to those sweet sounds, mewls, and whimpers in rough voice. Feeling impressive amounts of pre-cum soaking his PJ bottoms to wet his thigh. Perceiving ten fingers clawing to his shirt and skin before five of them went to awkwardly squeeze and rub a straining erection because humping alone didn't seem enough anymore. He allowed himself to give some solace, though. Caress the man's back, gently stroking up and down, combing slowly through longish hair. And in the end, when the rough groans and grunts got more and more desperate and changed into a higher pitch that almost sounded like crying, he placed a firm hand on round ass cheeks to provide a hint of final pressure and guide a couple of last humps against his thigh, pushing the young man over the edge. It did the trick. Daryl dug his face and fingernails into all the skin and fabric he could find, froze and panted, bucked his hips and made a strange little hissing noise before he started to frantically lick a random mosquito bite he found beneath an askew shirt. Negan opened his eyes but blinked at the half-dark ceiling instead of casting a glance down. He wanted to say something but did it only in his thoughts. And when the little licks slowed down and breathing turned from erratic to calm and even, he closed his eyes again, ordering the pulsing member in his pants to shut the fuck up and accept the sedateness and quietude that unfurled like a warm, heavy blanket within his little rental bedroom to remind everyone that the night wasn't over yet and the possibility of more sleep a real option.

\---- 

Bright sunlight in his face and the distinct smell of urine pulled the tourist from Atlanta out of sleep for the second time this morning. The clock said that the time was appropriate this time and he lifted his head out of the pillows when he realized that he was the only one in bed. The luxurious down duvet lay on the floor, just like a fantasy book, opened on pages 210 and 211. He could hear noise coming from the kitchen and knew it wasn't a rodent going through his supplies but a young man from the woods of Alaska in search for breakfast. He groaned and got up, trying to ignore how the thin, grey fabric of his PJ bottoms stuck to the skin of his thigh like somebody had glued them on there. "Daryl." His sleep-rough voice matched his messy hairdo and he tried to fix both by clearing his throat and combing three fingers through his hair. "I told you to ask before you eat my shit." He found the person he was looking for sitting on the ground in front of a wide-open cupboard, looking up at him with big eyes and full cheeks, a hand inside a bag of pretzel M&M's. Negan groaned again and fetched the bag to put it on the top shelf. The protesting grunt he received didn't fully reach him, though, when his attention wandered to the big, wet stain on the wooden wall right next to the front window. It extended all the way down to the floor where it ended in a yellow puddle. He squinted. "Did you piss on my fuckin' floor?!" He went closer, his mind refusing to believe what his nose could already confirm. 

"Hm." Daryl nodded coming up behind his host, a hand between his legs to casually fondle his bare manhood. 

Negan turned around. "Are you out of your fuckin' mind?!" He swung an arm to the left to point in a certain direction. "Did you miss the fuckin' shitter over there?!" There was a clear lack of comprehension displayed in blue eyes that changed into a form of defiant anger and matched his own mood pretty well, causing him to wrap a harsh hand around the man's upper arm and push him towards the door. "Go get the goddamn bucket and clean that up!" He tore it open and pushed his guest out, making him stumble. And to ease the guilt he felt, instantly threw the door shut and stomped back into the bedroom. "Fuckin' batshit crazy forest folks! Turns this dump into a fuckin' ape house." He picked up the book, threw it on the nightstand, picked up the blanket, put it on the bed, and then vanished into the bathroom to take a piss himself and get rid of the severely cum-stained pants he wore. 

When he came back out five minutes later, he found that he was still the only one in Tucker's rustic little cabin and therefore cast a glance out of the window... seeing a man with unkempt hair and baggy white shirt standing next to the wooden picnic table, a contrite expression on his pretty face. It made him mutter a much too harsh curse and even though he knew he should go and apologize, he just went to get the fuckin' bucket himself. Ignored the man standing there and stormed back inside to clean up the mess he knew had been created without any ill-meaning from a guy who hadn't used or seen a damn toilet in over two decades. The smell didn't vanish completely and kind of mixed with the cheap cleaning product he had available but in all honesty, he didn't care. He went out to dump the dirty water into a bush, dropped the empty bucket next to the table and left the door open as he went back inside. He meant to say 'Come back in' but didn't and instead made breakfast for two. The second bowl of oatmeal remained untouched though, even after an hour, when he got up to take a shower. After that, he washed the dishes, worked a bit at the computer and wrote down a few notes that weren't really that important but kept him busy.

In the early afternoon, he made a couple of sandwiches with tomato, a ton of fried bacon, a sliced avocado, and the last egg he owned. He took them both and went to the bedroom, making himself comfortable in bed, resting against the headboard to read.

For twenty minutes it was quiet except for the occasional sound of paper pages being flipped over. And when in minute twenty-one the faint sound of bare feet on a wooden floor was added to the silence, his stomach tingled very briefly in a sort of way he chose to condemn. But he made room between his long legs anyway when the mattress shifted and willingly held his book more to the left as a young man shyly crawled between his this, settling down with one knee pulled against his chest.

Then it was quiet again for the next 3 minutes until a small demand was made in rough voice.

"Ma sammich."

Negan didn't look up from his book but gestured to the full plate on his nightstand. "Yes. Eat." He concentrated back on his boring story and didn't comment on the tomato dropping on a fluffy duvet or the piece of avocado landing on his arm. Instead, his free hand reached out to fumble with the back of Daryl's baggy shirt and absently tickle the skin underneath.

\----

In the later evening, the generator was put to rest and an oil lantern spend the required light on its place on the nightstand. Negan had to admit he somehow got used to it and started to like the cozy atmosphere it created. 

"'t mine?"

And it was certainly bright enough to see that a red M&M was almost stuck into his eye. "No." He pushed down the hand holding it. "But you may eat it." The answer seemed to confuse the young man kneeling between his legs but after a bit of hesitation, it was eaten anyway. "Is it good?"

"Hm." Daryl stuck his fingers back into the candy bag to search for another red M&M. "'t mine?"

"Yes. What does it taste like?"

"Sammich." Daryl was already in search of a new one, rummaging through the blue bag.

"Hm. It's salty."

"Hm." It took a while to find another one in the color red. "'t mine?" And when he got one, held it up, almost touching Negan's eyelashes with it. He received a nod with a tiny smirk and took that as a good sign, stuffing the candy between his lips with a chuckle.

Negan lifted his knee to nudge it against the young man's back. "What's so fuckin' funny?"

Daryl chuckled again, found a yellow M&M and pushed it between Negan's lips. Then watched totally mesmerized when it was chewed.

The corner of Negan's mouth tipped up. "Will you brush your teeth now?" 

The young man shook his head but fumbled with his shirt anyway, to first pull a stolen toothbrush out and then a small blue car. He placed the first on the mattress and held the second to Negan's face, touching his nose with it. 

Negan didn't back away even though the toy smelled faintly of urine. "You know what kind of car it is?"

"Hm." Daryl looked at his possession from all sides and then moved it back and forth on a long leg. "Ma bus."

"It's a bus?" Negan took it, showing the underside where the brand 'Mercedes' was written. "No. It's a family car." The toy was taken out of his fingers, moved over his leg three more times and then he was a bit taken aback when his guest snuggled up against his chest. Just like that. It made him straighten his back. "You like busses?"

"Hm." Daryl listened to the deep voice rumbling through a firm chest and put the car's tiny tires on a white shirt. "The yellow."

It was just more comfortable to rest his chin on soft hair, at least that was what Negan told himself. "A school bus. Have you been in one?" He felt the young man nod and had the urge to wrap an arm loosely around his body. It felt surprisingly nice... especially as he imagined a little Daryl Dixon sitting in a school bus, legs too short to reach the ground, a lunchbox with a sandwich on his lap. It kinda put him in a strange mood and even though the wooden headboard pushed painfully between his shoulder blades, he didn't move when he felt the young man falling asleep. Lips slightly parted, cheek and ear pressed against his chest, still holding a tiny blue car. 

He had a hand free and could have used it to put the oil lantern out, but chose not to. Instead, it drew little lines and circles on a bare arm and fabric-covered back... while a strange scenario crossed his mind. A little hermit from the woods of Alaska boarding a motorboat to accompany him and travel to civilization.


	27. Oct 26th

October the 26th was a typical fall day, pretty chill but no rain. The perfect weather conditions for a bit of outdoor fun in the rich forests of Alaska.  
  
Negan wore a black windbreaker over his merino wool long sleeve shirt and had given his waterproof Gore-Tex jacket to his hiking companion, who had also insisted on carrying a slightly battered Jack Wolfskin backpack with a lot of food and water inside, along with a stolen toothbrush, blue toy car, purple lighter, and a random piece of cord.  
  
"Can you slow the fuck down?" Negan's urbanite lungs panted in protest as he hurried uphill after his surprisingly fast forest buddy. "It's a hike, not a fucking sprint!"  
  
"Nah." Daryl held on to the straps of the backpack, increasing his pace.  
  
"Nah? What do you mean fuckin' nah?! What if I just fuckin' stop right the fuck here and you can wander all by yourself through the fuckin' wilderness!" He stopped in the middle of the narrow path, spreading his arms.  
  
"Nah." Daryl didn't turn around and unperturbedly kept walking. "'s bear territory."  
  
Negan squinted, paused, looked from left to right, "What the-" and then started jogging after his companion, suddenly feeling a little bit uncomfortable. "What do you mean bear territory? They live here?"  
  
Daryl picked up a golfball-sized rock without really slowing down. "One."  
  
"Just one? You've seen him?"  
  
"Hm."  
  
"Hm? If you know it's here, why the goddamnfuck didn't we take a different route?!" There was a rustle on the left, causing Negan to walk by Daryl's right side. "Is it following us?" He glanced back over his shoulder, sure he had seen something big and furry.  
  
"Hm." Daryl picked up another rock, putting it into the pocket of his borrowed hightech outdoor jacket. "'s after you."  
  
The tall metropolitan from Atlanta snorted a laugh that sounded perceptibly nervous. "Yeah right. You're the one with the bag full of sandwiches."  
  
"Mh." Daryl flicked a random twig to the left, paused a second and then continued, eyes firmly on the treeline. "'s your smell."  
  
"Excuse me?" Negan stopped, squinting. "Are you saying I fucking stink?!" He didn't get an answer and reconsidered his decision of stopping, rather hurrying after his rude hiking companion. "Fuckin' weasel... got a nerve..."  
  
\----  
  
70 minutes later, the Alaskan hermit was sure that they had left the bear's territory and they decided to take a break by the shores of a stream. The ground was dry. Soft and mossy.  
  
Negan lay on his side, propped on his left arm, one leg stretched out, the other bent by the knee, fiddling with a piece of bark between his long fingers as he watched his young companion devouring the second sandwich. "You watch the animals here a lot?"  
  
Daryl nodded, slurping a piece of tomato through his lips. "Hm."  
  
"You like them?"  
  
"Hm."  
  
"Aren't they dangerous?"  
  
"Mh." He shrugged with one shoulder, licking the mayonnaise off his bread.  
  
"Not even bears? They seem fuckin' dangerous to me."  
  
"Hm." Daryl nodded, looking up. "When they're bumping.'"  
  
Negan furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"   
  
"Assbumping." Daryl lifted his butt half an inch off the ground to point at it. "For babies."  
  
Negan's lips curled into a smirk he was unable to contain. "They do ass bumping to make a baby?"  
  
"Hm."  
  
"It's called mating."  
  
Daryl nibbled the bread crust, quietly repeating the words. "Called mating."  
  
"Yes. They find a mate and have sex to procreate. It has nothing to do with their fuckin' asses."  
  
"Hm." The young man pulled a piece of avocado out between his bread slices, licked it once and then flicked to the side. "Assbumping."  
  
Negan sighed, waving a hand. "Guess you're the expert. Darl."  
  
"Hm."   
  
\----  
  
Since it was surprisingly comfortable at the little clearing by the stream's shore, Negan wasn't exactly in a hurry to continue the hike. He rested his long body in the moss, arm behind his back, gazing up into the yellow-orange-red of the slightly rustling treetops.  
  
Daryl had wandered around for a while, drank from the stream, collected more pebbles and now sat in a bit of a distance to pick blueberries, eating them directly off the bush.  
  
"Ksst." Negan held a hand out.  
  
Daryl glanced back over his shoulder, crinkled his nose against the sun and then got up to deliver seven perfect blueberries and one that was slightly mushed already. He watched as one by one was eaten, moving his own lips along in a faint chewing motion.  
  
Negan pretended not to notice and bit the fingertip that got curiously pushed into his mouth. He earned a grunt for it that was followed by a chuckle and then didn't really protest when a young man from the backlands of Alaska curled up next to him, head resting on his arm, before he dug his slightly berry-stained face into a 210,- dollar windbreaker, inhaling deeply.  
  
"Are you sniffing me?" Negan brushed his fingers through soft hair, gently tugging the long strands between his fingers. "Not smelling so bad now, right." He got no answer and wrapped an arm around his companion, not complaining when his shoulder was sniffed, the side of his neck, the scruff on his chin and cheek. He tipped his head just half an inch to the side and looked directly at a very close face. The urge to kiss briefly poked his chest. But he didn't give in and just pursed his lips as he tickled the back of Daryl's neck, pushing the man's head back down to rest on his shoulder. A little nap in this ridiculously beautiful place sounded pretty tempting and for a couple of minutes, he really closed his eyes. Until he noticed somebody poking his pants pocket. "What the fuck are you doing."  
  
"'t mine." Daryl tried to pull a phone out of the pocket but it was a tight fit and he wasn't successful, so he slapped the whole construction twice.  
  
"Yeah... no." Negan pulled a leg up to protect his private parts and got the phone out himself. "I paid a fuckin' fortune for that piece of crap. It is surely not yours." He held it up for Daryl to see anyways, switched it on and activated the camera without taking an actual picture, just let them both be visible on the display.  
  
Daryl stared up, needed a moment to discover the two people on the small device and then reached a hand out in pure astonishment, knitting his brow when he recognized somebody. "Dick." He glanced back to see Negan's face.  
  
"It's us." Negan took a couple of pictures, then zoomed in a bit on their faces and let Daryl hold the phone. "We look like shit." Actually, they didn't, apart from a bit of moss sticking to messy hair.  
  
Daryl chuckled, holding the display so close to his face that it touched the tip of his nose.  
  
"Yeah, don't smudge it." Negan tried to take it back but was dismissed with a grunt and little push.  
  
"'s mine."  
  
He tried again with more force but his little hermit-buddy immediately got up to flee behind a slender birch tree and inspect the stolen item further.  
  
"Fuckin' kleptomaniac." He was too lazy to actually get up and fight for his rightful property. "If you piss on it I'll tear you a new one."  
  
"Nah."  
  
Negan made himself comfortable again, closing his eyes. "You bet your ass I will."  
  
"Nah." Daryl turned his back to every other person in the woods, wanting them to be quiet.  
  
Negan sighed in annoyance that was more pretense than anything else. "Shut up, Daryl."  
  
"Darl."  
  
A smirk tried to force its way on his face but he fought it successfully and hoped his little weasely hiking companion wouldn't delete the latest picture on his phone by accident. He kind of wanted to keep it.


	28. Oct 27th

October the 27th was the first really cold day in Alaska for the heat-spoiled tourist from Georgia. Cold enough to see his own breath as he walked in boots and just with a towel wrapped around his waist from the cabin to a small outbuilding that he hadn't paid any attention to until now, figuring it would be an old pit latrine. But, as it turned out, it was the promised wood stove sauna, and once he had destroyed the lock, it presented itself in a surprisingly clean state. No bugs, no spiderwebs, even the wooden bench inside looked fairly new. 

And since he loved a nice sauna session to sweat out all the old toxins, and his little hermit friend hadn't made an appearance all morning, he had decided around noon to fire up the oven.

By 1:30 in the early afternoon the steam was already thick and moist inside the little chamber. Negan sat naked on the towel-covered bench, leaning forward with his arms resting on his thighs, hanging his head. Sweat ran down his back and shoulders, his face slick, salty drops running into his mouth as he parted his lips with a deep breath. He could already feel the heat doing its job, creeping through every pore, loosening his muscles and his entire-

"'s that." 

A blast of cool air disturbed the artificially created climate when suddenly the door flew open and a young man in Quicksilver bathing shorts and grey hoodie barged in, taking a look around the dim room.

"What the fuck are you doing here." Negan lifted his head, feeling a bit hostile, after being so rudely pulled out of his almost meditative state. He got no answer to his question. Instead, his guest sank down to sit on the wood-paneled floor, right between his sweat-covered thighs, expectantly looking up.

Negan leaned back against the wooden wall. "Would you fuckin' mind? I'm kinda in the middle of something here."

Daryl sniffed his nose, then reached out to touch the bare genitals right in front of him. "Ma jizz?"

"Yeah..." Negan took Daryl by the wrist to lift it out of his private zone. "I'm not a fuckin' soap dispenser." He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, trying to relax again. And it worked. His guest was quiet, the steam was hot, and now it was even pleasantly scented like toothpaste and earthy-forest-folk-skin. He liked it and debated to toss another ladle of water on the hot rocks to really get his blood boiling... when a finger touched the side of his slick knee.

"Matin'."

He opened half an eye. "What?"

Daryl gestured randomly to the right, looking very serious. "We're matin'."

A deep, very slow laugh rumbled from the depths of a sweaty chest as Negan closed his eyes again, craning his head back. "Yeah, I'm not your mate, boy." He dropped a lazy hand on his damp stomach, leaving it there. "You need to find yourself a little hermit girl. Make some cute forest babies." He chuckled again but then wondered why his guest didn't do the same. Instead, there was a kind of odd silence. For almost three minutes before a clumsy hand touched his penis. Tugged a bit and probed briefly, squeezed once, and when he thought the young man had lost interest, his slit was examined while something got whispered that sounded a lot like 'Ma mate'. He took a deep breath and forgot to exhale, noticing his traitorous dick snapping to attention under the innocent treatment. "Sst." He tried to will his rapid heartbeat down somehow and put his hand on Daryl's fingers, gently shoving them aside. "What did I just say." It was a bit irritating how soft and strangely affected he sounded despite his plan to voice a strict message. "No mating." As he looked down, he saw a confounded face. A damp strand of hair plastered to a blushed cheek. Sheepish fingers pulling each other. And after a while, his beautiful buddy from the mountains of Alaska got up and left. Not as boisterous as he had entered the little wooden sauna, but quietly... letting the door fall shut with a low thud.

Negan didn't move, just slowly turned his head to look at the thin line of bright daylight seeping through the door crack.


	29. Oct 28th

The morning of October the 28th was a gloom one. Negan sat at the table in front of a cold cup of coffee, staring blankly at a random spot by the door, deep in thoughts. It had rained through the night. Cold rain goaded by harsh winds. 6 hours of lying awake, feeling restless and frustrated.  
  
Daryl hadn't come back after the sauna incident. Not for dinner, not to sleep in a real bed, not for breakfast. And after two hours of waiting in front of an untouched plate and ballpen-pig-drawing, Negan got up, pouring his coffee into the sink.   
  
The whole day followed the same pattern. Bad weather and even worse mood. The prospect of leaving Lake Clark and going back to Atlanta in less than 3 days caused a nagging uneasiness that increased with every hour passing by. He didn't even know why exactly. He couldn't wait to end this bad joke of a so-called vacation, to be home and claim his life back, far away from gas generators, oil lanterns and man-eating bears. Far away from cold lake water, simple home-cooked meals and hours spend reading instead of watching TV. Far away from the sound of rain drumming on a wooden roof. The smell of resin. And pure air, so fresh and invigorating that it got almost addicting to be outside and inhale as much of it as possible.   
  
Far away from Daryl. With no option to contact him. No way to check whether he would be alright. No possibility to get to know him better. To hopefully rescue him from this godforsaken situation life had thrown him into. No opportunity to apologize for being a cruel, emotionally immature asshole.  
  
"Th." He snorted, throwing a pebble against a rusty metal bucket and after 70 minutes of waiting went back inside when thick drops of rain fell onto his grim face. He let the door fall shut and put on another sweater. It was fuckin' cold.  
  
In the evening after sunset, two oil lanterns were lit. One outside right by the cabin's doorstep. The other inside on the windowsill. A bowl of homemade Chilli con Carne with rice waited on the table along with a cup of peppermint tea. Both got cold, just like the water when Negan took a very long shower while his thoughts drifted off once more to a rock shelter up in the mountains.   
  
He skipped flossing his teeth when he thought he had heard something from the living room. But as he went to check on it, no one was there. The door was closed and nobody waited in front of it. Instead, the wind had picked up, bringing new rain along. Icy rain, sharp drops coming sideways. He squinted into the darkness and pulled the door shut again, nausea and anger creeping through his body at the thought of anybody being alone out there. Because of him.  
  
He went to bed at 11:32 PM. Put out the lantern on the nightstand 7 minutes later. And closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of pure relief at 11:55, when he heard the front door. Heard a whispered 'Ma sammich'. Heard faint smacking and slurping sounds from the table. Heard a quiet scrub-scrub that came closer. And then just lifted his blanket for the dripping man standing in front of his bed. He helped to take off a soaked hoodie and didn't care that cold, wet hair made contact with his luxurious down pillow. He put a stolen toothbrush and a blue toy car respectfully on the nightstand and closed his eyes again, grateful to the core when he was able to wrap his arms around the freezing body in his bed, to share warmth and comfort. Possibly it was the most intimate act he had ever performed, raw and honest, embracing somebody so tight it almost hurt with no intention to let go anytime soon. Digging his nose into the crook of a cold neck to inhale that strange scent he found so endearing.  
  
His lips brushed cool skin as he started talking, murmured words he had planned to say all day long. "I wanna show you where the city is." He felt the man in his arms tensing briefly, just because his voice came as such a surprise in the dark room. "Take you with me to a real house." Warm, even breath grazed a spot near his shoulder, causing him to stroke wet hair. "Help you get a job. Find friends. Maybe see your brother again if you want to." The words 'house' and 'Ma brother' were whispered against his collarbone, almost inaudible. It made him smile but just internally. "You wanna do that? Come with me to the city?" There wasn't a spoken answer, but after a while, he heard a rough little chuckle that sounded quite happy. It brought the internal smile to the corners of his mouth. "I'll take you on a bus ride. And introduce you to my fuckin' dentist. He will get a real kick outta your little fetish."  
  
"Ma bus."  
  
"Yep." Clumsy fingertips touched his lips and stayed there. He liked it and convinced himself that it was okay to touch one of them with the tip of his tongue. "I live next to a big street. You can watch them from the window." A nose brushed the stubble on his jawline and he tilted his head to meet the touch. "I really wanna take you with me. You shouldn't live here all by yourself."  
  
It was quiet for 143 seconds after that. Time enough to fall into a pleasant state of doze, with a lazy thumb stroking slowly up and down a bare back. ...until a single word was spoken, pulling him back to consciousness.   
  
"Negan."  
  
It made him smirk into the darkness and shift with a deep sigh, change positions to lie on top of his nightly guest. He looked down, barely able to make out the man's features. "Dick fits me better, I guess." He nudged his nose against a warmed up cheek, loving the rough chuckle he received in return.  
  
\----  
  
At almost one in the morning, an icy storm whipped through the majestic trees behind J.Alfred Tucker's Bush Luxury Wilderness Retreat Lodge, cold rain hit the cabin's windows and tested the waterproof sealing of the wooden roof. But the two men inside were totally unaffected, sleeping peacefully under a heavy down duvet, one sprawled out safely on top of the other.  
  



	30. Oct 29th

The second cup of hot coffee and big bowls of steaming oatmeal with apples and almonds tried their best to warm up the two men sitting on October the 29th together at the breakfast table in J. Tucker's little cabin by the lake. It was a cold day but the skies were clear and bright blue, no signs of rain or an upcoming storm. 

"So," Negan put his cup down. "Have you thought about it? Wanna come to the city with me?"

Daryl used his fingers to pick a piece of almond out of his bowl. He studied it for a moment, then flicked it to the floor. "Hm."

"It's soon. The boat will come tomorrow."

He turned to look at Negan, feeding him a single, soggy oat flake.

Negan ate it. "You wanna pick up some stuff from your little cave-thingy? Anything you wanna take with you?"

"Hm."

"Alright. Let's go on a hike then."

Daryl fished another flake of soaked cereal out of his bowl, shared it and licked his own lips as he watched Negan's mouth.

The hint of a smile flickered through Negan's eyes. "You wanna admire my fuckin' face first?" His guest blinked once up at him, lips tight, not saying anything. It made him groan and wave two fingers. "Fine. Five minutes. Wanna be back before sunset."

\----

The route from the lake's south shore to a certain area up in the mountains was still a pain in the ass. Several hours long, steep and rocky. It was also fucking cold and despite wearing the warmest clothing his suitcase had to offer and having his scarf wrapped up to his chin, Negan's freezing cheeks glowed in a bright red color.

"You know... out of all places available you had to pick the top of a fuckin' mountain to build your little burrow, right..." He was perceptibly out of breath when he finally arrived in front of the rock-shelter, with a delay of at least ten minutes. "Not givin' a flying fuck that perhaps an old guy like me wants to visit you." 

Daryl didn't comment on the criticism, busy to get all kinds of stuff out of his cave. He put a brown pebble on the ground to his left, nibbled a dried mushroom, pulled a face, chucked it to the right, and then handed his guest a pinecone before he vanished back into the cavern.

Negan gave it a skeptic glance. "You wanna take that to the city?"

A rough voice answered from inside the shelter. "Hm."

"Why?" Negan watched as a young man with tousled hair crawled back out to the open. "Is it your cuddle-cone?" He earned a grunt for his comment and was handed a bottlecap and an empty tuna can. "Of course." He huffed a sigh, muttering, "Just in case there's not enough fuckin' garbage in Atlanta for you to collect." He stuffed all three items into the pockets of his jacket and made a few steps, spotting a new drawing at the rock face that he hadn't noticed last time.

**I like Dick**

It was crooked, partly hidden behind a thin, leafless twig, and it made him smirk for sure. "You like me?"

Daryl looked at a stolen pair of underwear, sniffed it experimentally, and then tucked it into the waistband of his pants. "Hm." 

"Hm." Negan pursed his lips and gave a nod... before he picked up a random, rather flat rock to add his own message to the rocky surface. 

_**Dick + Darl = :-)** _

Daryl watched in wonder, touched it, read it quietly, and then looked up with a fairly happy expression in blue eyes. "'s math."

Negan agreed, dropped the stone, "It sure is." and waved two fingers to the narrow cavern. "Now go get the rest of your stuff. Wanna leave Mount Crumpit in time for dinner."

\----

The tourist from Atlanta/Georgia spent his last evening by the shores of Lake Clark sitting on the backrest of a wooden bench in front of his rental log cabin, sipping his tea. The cup was almost too hot to hold but it was also fucking cold and he was too lazy to go back in to gather his gloves. Or get his phone for a last photo. Of the mountain range by sunset, the fallish forest, or the young man sitting cross-legged on top of the picnic table, carving a piece of wood.

"What are you making?"

Two more wood chips flew through the air but Daryl didn't look up. "Fork for your sammich."

Negan furrowed his brows. "You make a fork for my sandwich?"

"Hm."

He smirked, watched his guest a while in silence and then nudged his back. "Are you looking forward to the journey tomorrow?"

Daryl sniffed his nose, shrugging.

"Have you ever been on a boat?"

He shrugged again, glancing at the lake. "Dunno."

"Hm." Negan did the same, staring at the calm waters of the lake and the prettily colored evening sky. Then took a deep breath and got up. "Wanna go to bed?"

Daryl looked down at the piece of wood in his hands, slowly carving off another chip. "Later."

Negan studied the young man for a moment, then nudged his shoulder, "Okay, see you then." took his cup and went back inside.

And he was long in bed when after more than an hour finally the front door squeaked faintly and his guest followed on quiet feet. He wandered around for a moment in the dark bedroom, placed a wooden fork on the nightstand and then sat down on the edge of the mattress scrubbing his teeth. For a very long time.

Negan knew there was a strange mood in the air. He could sense it. He could also guess where it came from and he really meant to say something, but in the end, he didn't.

Instead he felt the bed shift softly and a young man curling up by his feet. Touching his right shin, one of his toes, whispering something too quiet to be audible... and then grew still and quiet, just licking an old mosquito bite.

Negan closed his eyes but lay awake for hours to come. 


	31. Oct 30th

The morning of October the 30th was a busy one. All the newly purchased stuff didn't fit into the originally brought bags, and whatever found its way in there was taken out again three seconds later by curious fingers.

"'s that."

"The reason we will miss the fuckin' boat!" Negan grabbed the travel adapter held right in front of his nose and threw it back into his suitcase. "Go get all the shit from the bathroom, please." He knew it was a silly request the second it left his mouth and got confirmation when two minutes later a faint scent of mint swirled through the cabin. He groaned, closed his overflowing suitcase with a bit of difficulty and then kicked the door open and dragged it outside when the clattering sound of a motorboat cut through the peace and quiet of the Alaskan backlands.

"GOOD MORNING!" A chipper man in a well-worn denim overall waved his chubby arm as he climbed on the little wooden pier by the south shore and tied his boat to the pole. "Are ya ready to go?"

The grumpy passenger in red scarf and weirdly smelling leather jacket grumbled an incoherent reply and delivered the first piece of luggage to his unreliable ferryman. "It's two people. Make some room."

"Ah, ya know... I'll have to charge an extra fee for another pas-" Otis didn't get to finish his freight invoicing when a very intimidating man stepped into his private space, almost making him fall backward into the clear waters of Lake Clark. "I mean..." He swallowed, then cleared his throat, adjusting the sweat-stained cap on his head. "If it's just one I could cut ya a break."

"Hh." Negan flared his nostrils and blindly pushed the suitcase into damp fingers. "I thought so."

"'s the boat." Daryl came up behind his back, gnawing on a blue toothbrush.

"Yes." Negan softened his tone a bit, as well as his facial expression. "Wait here. I'll get the rest of the luggage." He pinched the man's cheek and left with long steps.

"Man," Otis took his cap off, scratching the back of his neck. "He's a bit difficult to get on with, ey." 

Daryl didn't say anything, just squatted down to dip his toothbrush into the water before he continued brushing.

\----

It took 17 minutes until Negan's personal belongings, a pinecone, an old piece of tent canvas, and several pieces of carefully selected garbage were stored on board of Berta II and old Otis cast a worried glance at the grey sky. "Guess we should hurry, looks like we get rain." He rubbed his weather-sensitive back and climbed on the boat to untie it from the pier.

"Chop, chop." Negan touched his companion's back. "Hop in."

"Mh." Daryl stiffened and made a step to the side.

"Sst." Negan gestured to the boat. "Get in." And when there was more resistance, climbed on board first, holding out a hand. "Come on." The answer he received sounded more like a very upset 'No' instead of the rather stubborn 'Nah' he usually got and when he tried to take the young man's fingers was dismissed with a grunt, high pitched and almost scared. He tried once more anyway, grabbing a resistant wrist, "What the fuck is your problem, I told you we have to take the fuckin' boat!" A stolen toothbrush fell into the pretty, turquoise lake water when Daryl jerked free and left, nervously rubbing his left shoulder before he wrapped an arm across his chest, vanishing behind the cabin.

Negan stared after him, his face set. "I will find you and tear your fuckin' head off your shoulders if you dare to start the goddamn motor before I'm back." He didn't bother to look at the man he addressed and with a long step climbed back onto the wooden dock, slowly following the little hermit he had met in the woods of Alaska.

He found him standing next to a shabby shack, fumbling with a splinter at the weathered wooden wall. 

"What's going on? You changed your mind all of sudden?" He didn't get a reply and tried to suppress his growing frustration as he grasped the young man's chin, roughly tilting it up for eye contact. "Can you fuckin' look at me?" What he got to see was exactly what he had felt a few hours ago in the darkness of his bedroom. Fear and sadness of a man who didn't need to be rescued. Not anymore. Who didn't need any pity. Who wasn't a pet to keep, but a grown man in his own right, who had a life right here.

And who the fuck was he to appraise its value? Whether it was better or worse than anything the glorious city had to offer... Selfish people, greed, money, dirt and endless hustle. Everything wrong with this world. Work until you drop dead. Paying taxes. Impressing the neighbors with the newest car and bigger house. Peace, quiet and true independency not more than a dream for fools. 

He looked at this unspent face, the healthily glowing skin and bright eyes that expressed such smartness even though they had never seen what the world was about... and he let go of a trembling chin to cup a warm cheek instead. "You wanna stay home?" Of course, he didn't get a spoken answer but heard the reply anyway, loud and clear. It had an effect on his own voice. "You know I can't stay here with you, right? I won't come back tonight. I have to go back to my real home now." Blue eyes welled up with thick tears but he saw it only for a very brief moment before they got covered by a very clean forearm. It made his heart clench and his throat tight... until the strong, always-in-control businessman took over, who always knew the right answer and was able to manage every employee depending on him and his leading skills in his sleep. Who was able to speak in a firm voice, calm and steady, to say the right words and think solution-oriented. "Hey. You wanna listen." He unzipped his jacket and slipped out of it. "You will sleep here in the cabin from now on. I will have more gas delivered so you can use the generator. The boat will bring you more food and you will eat it." He took the young man's arm down, "Right?" and put the jacket over his shoulders, trying for a faint smile and firm eye contact. "Will you brush your teeth three times a day for me?" There wasn't even a 'Hm' as an answer but at least a small nod that he took as a good sign before he grasped his chin again, a lot gentler this time. "You know what a kiss is?" He loved the little half-shrug he got, combined with childlike eyes, fixed on his face. It made him smile and cup that warm cheek once more, lean in slowly with a whispered, "Don't bite me, okay..." and softly touch his lips to the fuckin' prettiest mouth he had ever seen. It tasted exactly as he had thought. Minty and pure. Like innocence and a guy to keep. He didn't make it a deep kiss, no passion or hunger involved, but tried to memorize every little puff of warm breath, curious slip of silky tongue and the four fingertips holding on to the front of his shirt. He kept his eyes shut to touch their foreheads together. "That's a kiss. You like it?" He felt a faint nod and the 'Hm' he heard made him smile again. "Good. Should I come back one day to give you another one?" The instant little 'Yes' he got made him wish he hadn't mentioned such a silly feasibility, knowing full well what his schedule in Atlanta and reality looked like. But he chose to let them both keep that little sliver of hope and solace to make what was about to come in any way bearable. 

Not that it helped much when he pulled his arms tightly around this much too perfect man, digging his nose into longish hair to inhale this unique scent a last time and whisper a few words that were long overdue. "Thank you for the rescue, Darl Dixon."

This time he didn't look at the little wooden pier when the boat started. He kept his eyes fixed on the majestic mountain range, the turquoise shimmer of Lake Clark and the rich colors of the forest. His thoughts blaring in his head... until they had reached the other side. Port Alsworth. Civilization or whatever this place full of people and manmade garbage was. And just like that Negan climbed off the little motorboat to step back into another life, leaving Dick and Darl behind.


	32. Oct 31st

The whole factory was buzzing on October the 31st, getting ready for the biggest party in town. The bar got stocked up, a dozen delivery people tried to unload their stuff at the same time, and a slightly overwhelmed Mister Grimes stood in the middle, clipboard in hand, while he searched for the pencil that was tucked behind his ear. "Is Negan up yet?"

Simon heaved a box of Bud Light over the bar counter and blindly pointed to the right. "At the office since eight."

"Ah." Rick turned around, bumped into a person he had never seen before, found his pencil when it fell to the floor, and made his way to the factory's private business area, mumbling a rant only he understood. He stopped in front of door number 7, knocking.

"Hm." Negan meant to look up from his place behind the desk but his eyes remained blank for another moment, gazing at the wooden fork he twirled between his fingers.

"Hey. Didn't know you are up already." Rick entered, glad to see the boss back in place. "How was the trip?"

Negan inhaled, moving a couple of inches back with his chair as he put the fork down on the desk. "Had a fuckin' blast." He said it with the typical amount of slight annoyance and sarcasm he usually delivered with his speech, but this time just because he felt strangely protective of everything he had experienced in that otherworld called Alaska. "Almost died of boredom when I read that book you recommended."

"What do you mean?" Rick squinted. "It's a classic!"

"Yeah, right." Negan snorted and waved two fingers for the clipboard. He signed the papers on it and handed it back. "Will Shane help at the door tonight?"

"Sure." Rick tucked the clipboard under his arm and then couldn't suppress a grin when he saw the outdated phone on the desk. "What the hell is that?"

"What the fuck does it look like." Negan covered it with a paper folder and waved his fingers again, this time towards the door. "Go check the delivery. Don't want that pink grapefruit shit in my club again." He ignored the muttered rant as his employee left and waited until the door was closed before he dug out the phone again, switching it on to flick through its content. A photo made him stop. A selfie of him wearing hiking gear, lying in the moss with disheveled hair, and a young man curled up by his side. A fucking beautiful one with bright blue eyes. Looking at it seemed unreal and made him feel weird. Happy and unwell at the same time. Until he couldn't bear it any longer and closed the picture folder to dial a number in Anchorage to thank J. Alfred Tucker for a very comfortable stay at the Bush Luxury Wilderness Retreat Lodge at the shores of Lake Cark... and then buy that fucking shit hole to make sure it could be a forever home for the prettiest, most badass hermit who had ever roamed the wilderness of Alaska.


	33. Dec 26th

The metallic clatter of an old boat motor cut through Alaska's peaceful winter-scenery on December the 26th. The lake wasn't frozen but sharp frost and incessant snowfall had changed the landscape around it beyond recognition. Gone were all the vibrant colors, all the life, and earthy smells. Now everything was covered in a blanket of white, pure and silent, as if nature took a timeout.

As the boat neared the south shore of Lake Clark, Negan wrapped his scarf twice around his neck so that it overlapped his lips, trying to keep the stinging cold off his face. He squinted his eyes, worry carving deep lines into his forehead as he could make out the little log cabin surrounded by nothing but white. Microscopic ice crystals crunched beneath his heavy boots as he climbed onto the wooden landing pier, heaving several pieces of luggage off the boat, along with three canister of gasoline and three crates of food. He had a word with the ferryman and didn't watch him leave. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the house he had bought eleven weeks ago. A house that seemed very uninhabited the closer he got. There was no path walked into the kneedeep snow, no smoke coming from the chimney, no smell of coffee or food, no humming generator. No curious man stepping out of the door to greet him.

He knocked anyway and immediately realized that the door wasn't locked. He pushed it open, slowly peering through the crack. It was as cold inside as it was outdoors. No sign of life. Untouched boxes of delivered food. Untouched gasoline. No little garbage treasures on any shelf, no sandwich on the table.

"Daryl?"

The word seemed odd, spoken into the void. He could see the breath he had used for it and felt his heart grow heavy as he entered the bedroom. The bed wasn't completely untouched. The duvet had a mudstain and hung partly on the ground. The pillows were dirty, cuddled and sniffed by a grimy face, he could tell. An empty tube of toothpaste lay on the mattress. But that was it. He knew it all had been a long time ago, that nobody had been here in hopes for his return in many weeks. 

It was exactly the picture he had been most afraid to find.

But he stayed anyway. Dragged all of the luggage inside, wiped out the cupboards, stored all the food away, managed to make a fire in the oven on the third try, was delighted when the toilet still worked and lit a lantern to put on the table when at barely 4 in the afternoon the sun began to set.

It took a little eternity until he was able to take his down-jacket off because the house was actually warming up to some extent. He made a big pot of coffee anyway and drank almost all of it before six o clock, having no intentions to sleep anytime soon. He set up his laptop on the table. His old phone and the new one. The best mobile internet router on the market. And still, his eyes were on the little front window, hoping for any sign or noise from outside. It didn't come though. And the lonely night he spent in a saggy bed with a luxurious down duvet and dirty pillows wasn't anything like the times he remembered back in October with tousled hair splayed all over his chest and the scent of mint in the air.

Morning came with a delay on December the 27th, with a terribly lazy sun that didn't climb up behind the majestic mountain range before ten AM, testing Negan's patience. Because he knew after forcing down a bowl of oatmeal at a table decorated with piglets, Dicks and Darls, there wouldn't be another way, he would have to risk the climb-up through the snowy mountains, to hopefully find a little hermit in a rock-shelter hidden behind a couple of huge Frasier firs. 

And he was prepared this time, equipped by the best outdoor-survival store in Atlanta for a credit card-melting total of 1616 dollar and 19 cents. From head to toe, underwear to outer layers, he was ready to tackle this fucking rock and harsh winter climate. Even a brand new tub of Piz Buin Glacier Sun Cream imported directly from Austria was safely tucked into his pocket.

Maybe he should have also purchased a portable oxygen device because high-tech hiking gear or not, this goddamn mountain was still the steepest shit ever and forced him several times to take a break, in fear his lungs would burst. 

After three and a half hours, though, he arrived, kind of proud of himself that he could remember the way despite all this snowy decor.

He ducked, making the snow drizzle down the heavy branches as he shoved them aside and for a brief moment he was scared to look. Scared what he might find. Happy blue eyes, a dead body, a rock to his face, or nothing at all?

In the end, it was none of it. A young man with messy, unkempt hair, in weird makeshift clothing combined to a black leather jacket he wore the wrong way around, crouched on the ground in front of his little cavern, one knee pulled up to his chest, back to the rest of the world, carving a piece of wood. And in an instant, Negan realized that he had probably been heard and seen an hour ago. That maybe even his arrival yesterday hadn't gone unnoticed. But that he wasn't welcome anymore after all this time. After betraying the trust of a man who had no understanding of time and a world full of work, appointments, or new years breaks, somewhere behind the infinite wilderness. Who didn't care about houses and gas generators but just wanted a mate after a lifetime in utter solitude. 

Negan watched the dismissive figure for a while, surrounded by a cloud of sadness, and decided to step closer. "Hey." Close enough to touch greasy hair with the tips of his gloved fingers. "Missed ya." There wasn't any reaction other than a very brief stop of thin woodchips dropping to the ground. So he sat down, making all his GoreTex high-end gear rustle with the movement. The new angle allowed a glimpse at a very familiar face, still as fuckin' beautiful as he remembered. "Do you know what Christmas is?" The small flicker in blue eyes told him the answer and he pulled a thick glove off to get a small present out of his jacket pocket. Rectangular, wrapped in brown paper with a thin, red cord. He put it next to a dirty foot that was only protected by several pieces of cloth and tent canvas against the biting cold. "I thought you might like it." He knew he was right but the young man moved an inch away anyway. "I see." He nodded, resting his wrists on his knees. "Well, I brought a shitload of food and toothpaste. Maybe you wanna join me for dinner later." He still got no answer, not even when he waited patiently for five minutes, ten, thirteen. After 15 minutes he sniffed his runny nose, congratulating himself that he hadn't brought a goddamn tissue with all his super trekking gear. "Okay... guess I should go back, right. Will be dark soon and I'm fucking night blind." He rose to his feet with a sigh, realizing that his ass was frozen. "Was very nice to see you, Darl. I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner. Yesterday was my first day off." He tucked a long strand of hair behind a pale ear that was surprisingly warm to the touch and used the opportunity to caress the man's cheek for just a second. "I'll stay a while. Hope to see you around." And with that, he left, put his glove back on and made his way back down to the icy shores of Lake Clark.

\----

The climb-down had been the worst hiking experience so far for Negan. It had started to snow and winds picked up to a point where the freezing cold stung in his eyes and he could hardly see his hand in front of his face, let alone the nonexistent path he had used to get up that fucking mountain. After three hours he got lost completely, probably walking for an hour in the wrong direction. And when the sun began to set, he honestly considered to just give up, curl up into a ball of piteousness and wait for one of the assbumping bears to come and eat him alive. In the end, he had made it back, though, completely exhausted, just to find out that the generator didn't work for whatever reason. 

He had been too tired to make a real dinner and just ate a chunk of bread to a glass of water, thinking of the man he had left behind up in that cave. Again. And it made him angry more than anything else. The story of his life. It had always been easy for him to find somebody who was interested in a good fuck, maybe even two or three. But keeping a person around, no matter whether it was for a relationship or just as a good friend, had always been difficult for him. Obviously a workaholic with a fucking big mouth and no filter whatsoever wasn't considered good company. And normally he was too busy to care or notice, but sometimes he wondered whether he was maybe as lonely and antisocial as cute Mister Dixon, a loner, and outsider in his own right.

He took his thoughts to bed. A cold bed that didn't offer any comfort, one way or another.

\----

After a wakeful night with weird dreams, cold feet, and icy winds rattling the windows, Negan had fallen into a surprisingly deep sleep around six in the morning. For hours to come. The bright, rising sun in the late morning of December the 28th didn't wake him up, nor the snow geese cawing in front of the window. ...not even the young man barging into his little log cabin around noon with glowing red cheeks and a small, yellow toy-school bus in hand that he put on the mattress, moving it back and forth.

It took several minutes before noise and the presence of another person seeped into Negan's subconscious mind, and when he finally groaned and blinked his eyes open he looked directly at a young man kneeling in front of his bed. At unkempt hair. Dirty fingers playing with a new matchbox car. Blue eyes that seemed rather happy and content.

"Ma bus."

It made him smile, even though his lips didn't cooperate yet. He groaned again as he closed his eyes and stretched his back. "Cool... did you get it for Christmas?"

"Hm." Daryl moved the bus along the edge of the mattress, watching the wheels turning.

"Well, that's better than the box of Scotch I got, I guess." 

"Hm." He let the bus drive in the other direction and then up an arm with a lot of dark hair and black tattoos.

Negan turned his head, the hint of a smirk on his lips. "I almost fuckin' died climbing down your mountain last night."

Daryl glanced up as if to check whether the strange man from the city could be serious, and then brushed off the hyperbolic claim in rough tone, "Nah." as he let the bus drive up all the way to Dick's shoulder.

"What do you mean, Nah, I encountered a fuckin' moose and almost fell off a cliff." Negan got a chuckle and realized how much he had missed to hear it. "Thanks for taking care of my jacket. Looks good on you."

The right corner of Daryl's mouth tipped up just a tiny bit and he rubbed his ear against his shoulder in a gesture of shyness.

It brought a strange warmth to Negan's insides and he moved a bit and lifted the blanket. "Sst." 

Daryl hesitated six silent seconds and then climbed onto the bed and curled up next to the warm body, sighing when the duvet was lowered again and a strong arm pulled him another inch closer.

Negan closed his eyes, burying his nose into greasy hair. "You stink." He said it in a soft tone that was not very common for him and loved the cool face pressing against skin as if he was the most luxurious pillow in the world. Maybe he should get his employee a fucking coffee mug or something as a token of his gratitude for forcing him to go on vacation at the arse end of civilization...

  
\----  
Fin


	34. Epilog

"Daryl!"

The sun was about to set on January the 6th, when a strident voice disturbed the picturesque winter scenery at the south shore of Lake Clark. 

"DARYL!"

And of course Daryl wasn't deaf, but he was busy with the expansion of his ice road. It was very long by now, 30 feet at least, almost all the way from the cabin to the tool shed, with curves and tunnels, three bridges and the coolest ramp ever, down from the picnic table, so smooth and icy that his yellow racing-school bus shot down in rocket-speed like the fastest sled on earth.

" _DARL_! Did your fuckin' ears freeze off!? I thought you wanted spaghetti!"

He polished a little bump on the glassy track with the ball of his hand and the very end of his sleeve, spat on the white surface, polished again and then stopped briefly, listening to the very colorful rant coming from inside the cabin, about food waste and an entire pot of cold pasta arrabiata that would make Negan's Italian grandmother cry. He chuckled and decided to go inside for a while because he really liked to eat noodles at the table. Cold or not.

\----

After the second serving, Negan didn't bother with a third and just put the pot in front of Daryl's nose. "You had half a pig for breakfast, why are you so hungry?"

"Mh." Daryl used the wooden cooking spoon to shovel more noodles into his mouth, his chin hanging over the rim of the pot. He wasn't really hungry but all the food in Dick's house tasted so good that he wanted to eat all day.

Negan grimaced when a whole clump of pasta slithered off the cooking spoon and back into the pot with a wet squelch. "So..." He snatched the utensil from Daryl's fingers and replaced it with a fork. "What do you wanna do tomorrow. Did you think about it?"

"Hm." Daryl wrapped his whole hand around the handle and shoveled half the pot's content between his lips, slurping soundly before he chewed twice and answered with full mouth. "Sleddin'."

"Sledding?" Negan's brows knitted in confusion. "What do you mean?" He watched as all the tomato sauce on Daryl's face was wiped into an already dirty sleeve. "In the snow?"

"Hm." 

"Yeah, surely not. I won't climb up a fuckin' hill just to have a box seat when you crash into a tree." He leaned back, one foot up on the seat. "Plus: We have no sled."

Daryl didn't look up but waved an arm towards the black L.F. plastic bag hanging next to the door. "'s there." 

Negan turned around, frowning. "What's there."

"Ma sled."

Negan cocked a brow. "It's not your sled, it's the bag for my good shoes."

"Nah." Daryl sniffed his nose, then slurped another fork full of noodles into his mouth.

Negan bit back both the sigh and smirk battling to come out. "You plan to slide down your little mountain sitting on a fuckin' piece of plastic?"

"Yeah." Daryl poked his tongue to the far right corner of his mouth, trying to reach the piece of spaghetti sticking to his lower cheek. 

"Aha. You've done that before?"

Daryl nodded. "Hm." He had done it a million times.

"Really. When?"

"After school." With Parker Hanson and the other kids from the neighborhood. And once even Merle had joined them but he had outdone them all because he had been smaller and lighter and wasn't scared to get into real speed. 

Negan forced the twinge of pity he felt down into the cold depths of his chest. "Was it fun?"

Daryl chuckled into the pasta pot. "Yes." It had been super awesome.

Negan smiled to some extent. "Well, then we need a bigger bag. My big ass won't fit on that tiny thing." A curious face with sauce-sticky lips turned to look at him. He kind of adored it. "Right? How about you finish your fucking feast here and then go through all the shit I brought with my luggage. Bet we find something better."

Something warm and happy exploded in Daryl's stomach. He loved to look at Dick's stuff and the possibility of finding another sled made him really excited. And he already knew where they could go for sledding. On the west hill where the Dall sheep lived.

"Ksst." Negan snapped his fingers in front of blanked-out, daydreaming eyes, "Chop, chop. Finish your dinner." before he got up and vanished in the bathroom.

\----

Daryl knew what a mirror was. Mama and Papa had one in the real house. He had to climb on a chair if he wanted to reach it. Sometimes he had done that, to make his hair pretty with a comb or look at his teeth to see whether he had to clean them. But now, using a mirror in Dick's house, was a frightening experience. He looked at his reflection and saw a stranger. And then again not. It was scary and yet he couldn't stop staring. At his teeth and the white foam on his lips. His eyes and hair. He looked a bit like Papa with the bit of beard he had. And when he went really close he could even see his own breath, fogging up the glass. It was wet when he licked it and then had a white spot from his tongue. He touched it with his finger and made it a circle like the tire of his school bus. Then he cocked his head, surprised when another person appeared in the mirror. It made him happy and he turned to glance back over his shoulder, wanting to see the real man leaning in the doorway. "Ma bus." He smiled, pointing at the toothpastedrawing he just started.

"You know..." Negan pushed off the doorframe with a groan, grabbing a towel to wipe it over his guest's face. "The dentistry association of America recommends that we brush our teeth for three minutes... not thirty. You'll scrub off all that pretty enamel baby Jesus gave you."

Daryl wrinkled his nose beneath the towel, then ducked his head to get out of it when he discovered something new. A new drawing on Dick's chest, a bit hidden by all the nice black hair. "'s that?" He touched it with two fingers. It felt warm.

Negan threw the towel to the right. "What's that? You tell me. I got it after I arrived back home in November." Blue eyes glanced up at him and then back at his new tattoo, clearly recognizing it.

"Ma mountain." Daryl scratched it with his fingernail. It didn't come off. And there was also the sun over the mountain range, the big lake in front and two birds flying in the air. He chuckled, looking up.

"Yeah, I don't think so, boy." Negan snorted a laugh and shoved the fingers off his chest. "Just because you fortuitously live here doesn't mean you have the monopoly on half of goddamnfuckin' Alaska." He switched the light off and went to the bedroom. "Now come to bed, I thought you wanna see the city."

\----

Daryl blinked rapidly and pulled his fingers off the computer screen when the whole picture suddenly exploded in tiny colorful lights, like a million fireflies all over the strange buildings in the dark.

Negan looped an arm over Daryl's shoulder, pointing at the screen. "It's the 4th of July fireworks. It's filmed from the roof of my house. It's pretty high up."

Daryl blinked again, almost forgetting to breathe. The Atlanta-City didn't look like anything he had ever seen before and certainly not like the city he remembered. With his school and the supermarket and Parker's house and their own. The city on Dick's bed-TV was huge and with so many lights and vehicles, it made him dizzy. The photos also made noise and after seven seconds he turned his head to look away, not sure if he liked it. 

"Not a patriot, hu..." Negan groaned and pulled the young man closer, tucking him underneath his arm, then swiped over the touchpad, opening a new video clip. "How about this. It's my-" In search for the right term, he waved a hand towards the screen and the video showing a pretty guy sitting next to him in the car. "It's Paul. He filmed the first ride in my new car."

Daryl turned reluctantly back to the weird little TV, his face grim until he got totally captured by the fascinating movie. It was Dick with black glasses and the leather armor that smelled so great. He had both hands on the steering wheel of a real car and drove it along a real street. There were other cars and then red lights and big houses left and right, people walking on sidewalks and a dog. Another person with a lot of hair sat in the passenger seat and sometimes only his face was to be seen, smiling and talking, and Daryl growled a little and scratched the smooth screen to make it go away because he wanted to see Dick and the street again.

"Cool, ha." Negan touched their temples together, shifting a bit because the wooden headboard was uncomfortable in his back. "It's a Dodge Charger." He waited until the video was over and clicked on one of his picture folders. "See?" He zoomed in on one image that showed the car from a bit of a distance, including himself leaning against the driver's door.

Daryl chuckled, touching the screen again. It was Dick with the leather armor but without glasses and he tried to sit on the big car. It didn't work that's why he made a grumpy face.

"What's so funny?" Negan frowned, clicking through more photos that showed different spots of Atlanta. "I was pissed because my fucking employees needed 1045 fucking hours to get ready. I am surrounded by idiots."

"Hm." Daryl didn't like the pictures without Dick and cars and glanced to the left where two-thirds of the bed were occupied by his new sled. He had discovered it in Dick's suitcase. A huge blue plastic bag from an outdoor store. It was perfect and had a white drawing of a big fir tree and two mountains. He knew it would be super fast.

"Sst." Negan nudged his nose against a warm cheek. "Are you done? Wanna sleep?"

"Mh." Daryl shook his head once, reaching out to arrange the sled in a better way. He couldn't wait to test it in the morning.

"No?" Negan shut the laptop. The battery was running low anyway. "Play more Uno?" He smirked when a pretty face turned to eye him suspiciously and the man's gaze fell to his lips. He licked them just for the fracture of a second and grinned even more when the small act got copied instantly. He cocked his brows. "Kiss?"

"Hh." Daryl nodded. He wanted to kiss badly and sat very, very still when Dick's expression suddenly changed from amused to really gentle and a big hand came up to brush strands of hair from his face. It made his heart stutter oddly.

"Mhm." Negan traced a line with his thumb along a blushed cheek, loving how those big blue eyes stared at him in wonder and when he dipped his head, Daryl parted his lips and sucked in a little breath. It made him crazy, but still, the kiss was soft and slow, a tame one, just to get a little taste of that gorgeous mouth. "It's a goodnight kiss." He broke it with a last peck, "It means you have to sleep now." pinching the man's chin before he turned to put out the lantern on the nightstand and get comfortable. It bothered him a bit that Daryl didn't say anything, but pulling him close and having him rest on his chest felt satisfying. He stroked up and down a bare back, feeling slight goosebumps along the invisible trail he created. He also felt fingertips tugging his chesthair, warm breath near his nipple and a distinct hardness against his thigh. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, letting his fingers wander up the track of goosebumps to a warm neck and the longish strands of hair that covered it. He played with them, pulled them softly to their full length, curled them around his fingers and loved the small shudder he caused, taking a mental note that beautiful forest hermits were obviously ticklish.

Daryl liked Dick's chest so much. It was solid and warm and with his ear pressed to it he was able to listen to the steady dun-dun, dun-dun inside. He loved touching the dark fur-hair that he didn't have like that on his own body. And he really wished they could kiss more with their mouths and not sleep. "Ma mate." He said it quietly into the darkness, enjoying his own voice that still seemed kind of weird to his ears. It was rough and sounded a bit like Merle or a bear. "Ma mate." He closed his eyes when the broad chest beneath him rose and fell, when the tickling fingers raked a bit more insistently through his hair, when the awesome blue sled rustled underneath him because he was slowly rolled over and moved onto his back. He opened his eyes again but couldn't really see anything in the darkness. He could feel a heavy body lying on his, though. Lips and beard stubble gently roaming over his face. Big hands on the left and right of his face when he was goodnight-kissed again, once, twice... and then after a short pause, a third time that didn't stop and made his whole stomach tumble and his toes cramp. It was with a low wolf's growl and lips and tongue everywhere until he forgot to breathe and his deep bear-voice vanished to be replaced by a strange mewl. He arched his back because his penis tickled so badly. And then even more when one of the big hands left his head and reached down between his legs. He froze and gasped into the kiss, his eyes wide open. His whole body grew glowingly hot, especially his right ear when it was goodnight-kissed as well and damp lips whispered words into it that he had never heard before but made his heartbeat as fast as his awesome racing-school bus on the ice track. And then his throat got all tight and his trembling hands searched for something to hold on to when mating really happened. He could feel it and hear himself pant like the bears always did. He opened his legs wide and felt something hard rocking rhythmically against his butt and penis. It felt so very good that he wanted to laugh really loud and do something funny but he didn't because he was held so incredibly tight and goodnight-kissed so deep that he forgot all thoughts and just burst into a million pieces. It made him wail against Dick's broad shoulder and rut his hips uncontrollably. For a moment he felt like crying even though nothing hurt. And then he just lay there buried by his real true mate, safe and happy, with wetness soaking his underwear-pants and a mixture of soft lips and rough beard caressing the side of his neck.

Negan had trouble focussing. Seldom in his adult life, he had shot his load in a matter of minutes, straight into his PJ bottoms just from a bit of dry humping. It was maybe a bit embarrassing but on the other hand it felt so good and right that it would be worth to go to hell for it. Shit, how he adored this little weasely guy with all his odd but oh so endearing behavior. The sweet smell and clumsy touches. The unspent attitude and blunt emotions, as pure and innocent as a creature out of a fairy tale. Fuck fucking Atlanta, his million-dollar company, and all the pretend amenities of civilization. If someone would have offered him a deal to trade it all for a life here as a fuckin' hermit in the woods of goddamnfucking Alaska and worship Darl Dixon's gorgeous ass for the rest of his days, he would have signed that shit with a streak of his own blood, no questions asked. And that fact got even more underlined when the pulsing rush in his ears dimmed down enough to hear his lover mutter quiet words into the darkness, full of contentment and innocent happiness. About sleds, Dick and Darl, mates and sandwiches. A black car and a blue toothbrush. The word 'baby' made him first frown, then smirk to some extent and lift his head a couple of inches. "Who gets a baby." A finger poked the nonexistent space between their bare bellies and he gave off a low chuckle, resting their foreheads together. "No baby for us, boy. Girls get babies, not men." It was too dark to see anything but he could tell he was listened to very attentively and decided to take the amusement out of his voice. Instead, he delivered a rare after-orgasm kiss. An especially gentle one with the back of three fingers caressing a still glowing cheek. "Men kiss and fuck and make love. And then they eat spaghetti and go for a hike. All the fun stuff. Right?" He didn't get an answer but decided to let the topic rest even though he felt kind of bad and a little closer to hell for sure. 

...until 12 minutes later, when he was already in a light sort of half-sleep and a rough voice murmured into the dark room, combined with that happy chuckling sound he adored so much. 

"'n sleddin'."

He groaned, opened his eyes and closed them again, cupping the back of Daryl's head as he turned them both around, pulling the young man close to his side, off that rustling REI-shopping bag-sled. "You won't be happy until my brain matter dangles from some tree, right." He patted a warm cheek. "Thanks a lot, _Darl_. Now sleep... I wanna enjoy that fuckin' jizz drying in my pants."

Daryl blinked into the darkness as he listened to the wonderful deep voice rumbling through Dick's chest. "Ma jizz." He mouthed the words just soundlessly and reached down between his legs to feel his own damp underwear. He was really glad that he had claimed his mate before the lonely Northshore-bear could.


End file.
